Necessary Evil
by Frosty Autumn
Summary: The women in Oswald's life are few, and even fewer could admit to loving him. For once in his pitiful life, he would do something selfless. Pre-Gotham.
1. Reminisce

A breath of tangy sea air is always best when inhaled straight through the nose. My lungs expanded, invigorated, and I was peaceful again. Gotham City's docks were always a dank slab of commercialized fishery depots, but today was an important day for me.

Weak but strengthening blue light encompassed everything. The horizon was just a grey-blue smear of pre-morning. One or two fishermen and equipment workers walked about here and there, clocking in early and preparing for their day's work, but I would only be a few minutes. The car was still running and I couldn't stay long.

My umbrella seemed like a silly precaution now, the black clouds were too sparse to let fall a single drop, but I held it tight just the same, comforted by at least having something to occupy my hand.

I stood on the edge of the concrete walkway, the choppy, lapping harbour water just one wrong step below. This was the place where I had last seen her, exactly one year ago today. Before she left me forever. I stared past the water's surface at a section of Gotham City skyline directly in my view, but it wasn't the object of my focus.

I planned ahead to make certain that the time of day was accurate, too. I still remembered that if I stood at this exact same spot when the sun rose, it would appear as a heavenly sliver between two skyscrapers in the distance.

To the few workers who would notice me standing here aimlessly, I would only appear to be a man simply lost in his thoughts. Of suicide, perhaps. Either, or. It was of no consequence to me. They weren't the reason why I was here.

I caught myself contemplating. I had to admit, I never thought much of her when we first met. Likewise she with me, I'm sure. To be perfectly honest, I think her initial reaction said it all. Every surfacing memory I had in that moment brought a new regret, but I soon realized that they were all trivial. Favorite movie? Favorite board game? Favorite artificial flavor? Meaningless.

I'm still glad she happened to me.

As the only child of two Greek immigrants, she was never well-off financially. Despite the heavy accents of her parents, she spoke perfect English. Her father was a fisherman who found work on this very wharf I was currently standing on, and her mother managed a small, Greek-run produce store in Park Row. I knew that they would both would not come in to work today, though, and not ever again.

She was uneducated as far as most upscale employers were concerned. With only a high school diploma to her name, her dreams were cut short in order to help her parents stay on solid ground. It was her choice after all was said and willingly done, her decision was uncontested. She rose at 8:00 AM sharp the next morning and donned her forest green apron, hauling fruit from a delivery truck and setting to work on their display.

It's hard to forget that autumn afternoon we crossed paths, even if I wanted to. In a bizarre twist of fate, I have a few street toughs to thank for that. _They_ decided on that specific alley, situated away from prying eyes, and long enough to hide midway inside so that I could continue to absorb their punches in private.

One of them had me by the lapels of my black sport coat, hauled me inside, and threw me to the ground. I stumbled and fell, landing in a greasy, stagnant puddle at the building's edge. The water wasted no time in soaking through the pitiful layer of my dress pants. I held out a pleading hand of surrender.

"No, no, no, wait, stop," I stammered.

One of the three, a solid mass of a guy with some Spanish name I can't remember, strutted forward, grabbed me roughly by my collar and hoisted me onto my feet. "You think we're playin' games?" he threatened inches from my face. He braced his arms and rattled me once, stretching my shoulder seams to their very limits. "You think you can just come in here and disrespect us?!"

"I-I-I—" I was cut off by being tossed into a towering pile of discarded, broken grocery supplies and crates.

"Have at him, boys," the Spanish man said to his cronies, stepping back and allowing them forward.

What came next is the worst part to relive. No matter how much I'm used to being the bullseye for a pulverizing blow, I'll never get used to the pain that follows. Gina Carlto was my first during my schoolyard years. She was a beefy third-grader with no neck and still has the sharpest, most accurate right hook I have ever known. Needless to say, I was no match. My teeth have taken quite a few knuckles over the years. Three of them aren't even mine as a result, but the dentist I chose by way of random process had pride in her work, thus most strangers usually cannot tell.

I heard the squeak of a metal barred door somewhere far off in-between the noise of knuckles connecting to my bones. My body curled reflexively into a ball, as if it would somehow minimize the pain. It never does. Every punch wrung a strangled, unintentional cry from me. Their unrelenting energy meant that they were far from done.

"Hey!" somebody screeched from a distance. "Stop it!"

I felt one less fist.

"Mind your own business, we got a score to settle!" one thug hollered in retaliation.

"Step away ri-right now, all of you, before I call the police! I mean it!"

My attackers altogether relented, but not from fear of the threat. They were very much in control of every aspect of the situation, but apparently they couldn't resist a sideshow. I panted from the lasting ache they left behind, and it only kept getting worse by the second, spreading to places they never even pummeled. I had enough sense of mind left to register that the interrupting voice was female. And bluffing like mad.

"We ain't afraid'a no GCPD!" answered the leader. "So just get back in there and keep your mouth shut if you know what's good for you."

The female was silent for a beat. I couldn't see her over the hill behind me.

"I mean it," she warned again with inflated, shaky bravado.

The leader scoffed. None of this was worth his time. He gazed over at me with a sneer.

"Well, looks like the lady says he's had enough, boys," he oozed sardonically. "You have a nice day then, ma'am. This piece of shit is your problem now."

He saved one last kick for my stomach, doubling me over, and walked away. Another spit on me in passing, and then all three exited the alley, leaving me alone. Or at least I thought I was alone. I don't know how serious the female was about going to call the police. A hollow clatter echoed somewhere, and the quick slapping of shoes got closer.

I didn't see her turn the corner, all I could see was the black of my tightened eyelids. I was clenching my teeth so hard that I swore I would crack them.

"Oh my God!" I heard her fretting, breathless voice. A breeze brushed my skin and I suddenly sensed her presence very close to me. "Stay where you are, I'll call an ambulance!"

"I don't-...need one," I grunted. The young woman had just witnessed me being beaten into tenderization, I didn't need the extra humiliation of being carted away on a stretcher and a blaring vehicle.

"Does anything hurt? Can you stand?" she said quickly.

I couldn't even muster the energy to give her a disdainful look. I was certain my condition would have been enough of a blinking neon sign for her. "Just...give me a second."

I forced my eyes open, expecting her to appear in my view. I just didn't expect her to be completely blocking my entire perspective. Her concerned, angled brows were shot to her dark hairline, which was pulled back into a mess of a ponytail. Her owl-like, dark brown eyes wouldn't cease darting in a panic, they were shifting over every inch of my body. Her puffed lips were parted dumbfoundedly, elongating her oval face.

"Do you need help standing up?" she asked firmly, like she was trying to take control of the situation.

"No," I said pertly in a tone that I hoped would put an end to her questioning. She was beginning to irritate me with the constant barrage. If she really wanted to help she would just leave me be and let me hobble home on my own. Just like every other time before.

I shifted onto my hands, preparing to boost myself onto my knees. My upper lip felt warm and wet. I sniffled to test my nose, and as a result snorted a large glob, confirming to myself that I was indeed bleeding. Thankfully, the girl backed away to give me my space, but her hands stayed hovering in the air, poised to catch me if I tumbled like a newborn fawn.

Wobbling and stiff, I somehow managed to stand just fine without her help, something I was proud of. I am resilient. I survive.

"Here, sit down on this," she said, gesturing to a crate large enough to fit the both of us comfortably. "I'll wait with you here until the cops come." Her hands touched my shoulder in an attempt to guide me. I shrugged her off. She quickly retracted.

"I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?"

"No."

The girl put her hands on her hips, not sure whether to be offended by my stubborness or not. I stole a glance at her to size her up, gauging what I was up against. A tad on the weightier side, her form-fitting t-shirt gave a small peek of semi-roundedness in her stomach, though this effect also worked to her advantage and accentuated her more important curves. Her jeans also stretched across strong thighs. Still, she didn't seem all that threatening.

"Look, miss," I began.

"Pardon, I should have said earlier. Call me Renata."

"Renata," I repeated blankly, "I appreciate your concern—", somewhat, "—but there is no need to trouble yourself. I'll be out of your way in a few minutes."

She stepped close enough that a waft of her subtle, powdery perfume floated into my face. Meanwhile I was sure that I reeked of the stale-sour scent of spit.

"I can be a witness," she insisted, blocking my path. "I've got your back, don't worry." She said it as loyally as if we'd been friends all our lives.

I didn't answer and acted as though I hadn't heard her. My right knee was throbbing something fierce, and it felt bad enough that I needed to sit down for a little while. Side-stepping her, I limped to the crate she indicated. My motion would just appear to her that I had taken up her offer. I allowed her to think that for now, my pride was going to be a slow process to build up again after this incident.

Settling gingerly into a seated position, my body unwound by the slightest margin. A little relief was better than no relief at all.

A discarded wooden baseball bat lied several feet away, which must have been the hollow clattering noise from earlier. Well, at least this Renata girl deserved some credit in not being recklessly weaponless when taking a couple punks on.

She didn't sit down next to me, and opted instead to circle and look me over head-on.

"It's going to be a while to wait. Do you need anything to eat in the meantime?" she offered.

My stomach was like a black void. To tell the truth, I hadn't eaten in quite a while. Yesterday afternoon to be precise. I didn't answer her question, though, I could scrounge for something myself later, it wasn't important. Neither were the useless cops. All I needed was a moment to catch my breath and wait for my skull and ribs to stop hurting, then I'd be out of her hair and she'd forget I ever happened.

Her eyes searched me, anticipating permission or a reply. "I'll go get something for you anyway," and she bounded away, disappearing back into the produce shop. "Don't go anywhere!" I heard her call from inside the open, propped door. Presumably she would also take some time to call 9-1-1.

Now that she was gone I hoped I could slip away, but my chest still convulsed in heavy, lugging breaths. I wouldn't get far before she came back.

She emerged again within the minute, jogging back to me with a plastic-wrapped sandwich in her hand. And an ice-pack.

"It was all I could find that was ready-made. Here." She placed the sandwich in my hands, careful not to get any of my blood on her. Preservation of evidence or just plain squeamishness, I couldn't tell.

"...Thank you," I said shortly, hiding my begrudgement well. I didn't need her help, I got through life so far without much of anyone else's. Still, I was pretty famished. "So what do I owe you?" I added while unwrapping the plastic, preferring to get to the point. An eye for an eye, a favor for a good deed, that was the way people worked in this town. Can't get everything for free, because even the air you breathed had a price.

"Don't worry about it," she said dismissively. "All taken care of. Eat."

I almost laughed but instead suppressed it and smiled into the first bite as my teeth sank into the bread. Naive. Phony nobility. I'd seen her type before, nothing new.

The sandwich was some sort of bland turkey and lettuce combination, but it would get the job done at least. Being fresh was another plus since the bread still looked fluffy, and though the lettuce was limp, it still retained it's crunch.

"I brought this for you, too." Now was when she chose to sit down beside me. She held up the ice pack.

I looked at it questioningly.

"You've got a nasty-looking welt under your eye," she explained.

I touched my left cheekbone. It felt fine.

"The other one."

Touching my right, I cringed instantly. The spot felt raised, and very tender. Placing the sandwich aside for a moment, I accepted the ice pack, shivering at it's first contact with my face, but in seconds I relaxed from the relief.

"Can you tell me your name?" she asked conversationally, clearly expecting the exchange because she shared hers.

I pretended to need a pause to finish chewing another bite when I really was just buying time. I scratched my brain for an invented name, but what was the use. It wasn't any concern of mine whether she knew my real name or not.

"Oswald."

"Oswald," she repeated, nodding. "You don't hear that kind of name around anymore. Very distinguished."

I made a non-committal noise and stared ahead at the brick wall.

The fall chill in the air was mild. Goosebumps formed on Renata's exposed arms, but she took little notice of their appearance. True to her word, she stayed with me.

The cop's arrival was an uneventful affair. Two responding GCPD officers, seasoned and grim from years of grudgingly having to babysit for petty crimes such as this one, went through the motions, asking only the questions they needed to. Renata did most of the talking, thankfully. I wasn't much in a mood to. All I had to do was refuse their one-time offer of an ambulance.

She led the officers to certain points of the alleyway, gesturing to the corner where she found me and describing the street thugs in exquisite detail, everything from what they were wearing to their physical features, all without prompt. She was very theatrical with her hands, even going as far to illustrate dimensions and height. Once they took a short statement from me, they promised Renata in dull tones that they would do their best, and they left.

I felt an urge to tell Renata that the officers weren't going to follow-up, that her optimism in the GCPD was unfounded. But I didn't care enough. Let her think that justice would come through. She'd find out soon enough.

By now the autumn sunlight was softening. Had to have been around 5 P.M. by then. My aches had subsided enough that I could walk home unassisted and not collapse. I wasn't looking forward to seeing the mottled purple mosaic that had surely painted my body when I would step into the shower tonight.

Renata stood up to see me off when I told her I would be on my way.

"Do you need me to call a cab? Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Nothing you can help with, I assure you."

Renata still looked doubtful. "Here." She dug into her pocket, fishing out her store's business card. "Take this phone number, call me if you need anything else. If I'm not at work, you can call me here." Swiping a pen from her apron pocket, she quickly scrawled her home number on the back of the card. "You really took quite a beating back there. I'm just worried for your well-being." She held it out for me to take, pinching it between her fore and middle fingers.

I accepted the business card and placed it in my pocket without looking at it. "Thanks," I said automatically.

"If it's alright with you, can I see you again?"

See me? I had no idea what she meant by that. Oh, I knew the phrase in the way that other people used it, but Renata's intentions were difficult to figure out, judging by her tone. I wasn't egotistical enough to assume that she wanted to see me again for reasons outside of this incident.

"I just need to know that you're okay," she clarified.

Called it.

I'm not much for promises. Too delicate to be kept. One wrong move and they're stopped cold. I thought of refusing her point blank to save her the trouble of holding out hope for an update on my condition, but my mother taught me better than that. I had to be a gentleman, a man of class above all else in the face of trial and adversity.

"We'll see," I told her. It neither confirmed a yes or a no, but the answer would still placate her in the meantime.

She nodded affirmatively. "Get some rest, then. You deserve it. I'm really sorry this happened, I hope you'll be okay, Oswald."

She would never know that the fight she had broken up was entirely my fault. I had been the one to provoke those thugs into a foaming-mouthed frenzy just minutes earlier. It sounds stupid on paper, I know; a twiggy beanpole single-handedly inciting a scuffle against three street hoods who practiced chin-ups from their fire escapes every day. But they had it coming. They called me penguin.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This story idea came to me about two weeks before Gotham's pilot premiered. I was so excited for this show, I've been keeping up with promos since April when I first heard it was coming :D I know tons about The Penguin already, I've been a huge Batman fan for years, but I wanted to wait until I watched a few episodes of Gotham to be certain whether or not the show would make some changes or take a few liberties with the character. It's been pretty consistent so far after two episodes, so I feel safe uploading this now.**

**Fair warning, this story might be a short one. Maybe a two or three-parter. At least that's what I'm planning, but I do have a tendency to get carried away sometimes. Thank you for reading if you made it this far! Do feel free to share your thoughts.**


	2. Start

Getting into bed that night was an ordeal, but crawling out of it in the morning was war. My bruises, which dotted a considerable amount of my upper body, had turned the most putrid shade of brackish blue I had ever seen, and even somehow seemed to have marginally expanded overnight. Upon entering the bathroom and checking my nose in the mirror to make sure it hadn't been broken, some blackened bits of dried blood I somehow missed the previous evening flaked into the sink.

My eyes were rimmed with dark circles, but that was par for the course, they always seemed to have an ominous shadow underneath, unintentional on my part. Except today my left side was darker than normal, thanks to that welt. Luckily it wasn't as sensitive to the touch this time.

I felt no worse for wear as far as internal damage went.

Besides residual humiliation.

Something nagging in my brain pulled me back to the previous day, a reminder of something I was supposed to do. I recalled that Renata girl. I hadn't forgotten about her and how she hoped I would check in with her. The card was still in my coat, untouched and forgotten since I pocketed it. I had no inkling to actually fetch it and indulge her, I'm not one for arbitrary phone calls. She saw me walk away still relatively attached, that should have been enough to satisfy her. That is, if she was at all truly sincere about being concerned for my _well-being_, as she put it.

I supposed, however, that I owed her something for her interference. That was the sort of habit Gotham instilled in you, the quick reimbursement of a favor you owed before things escalated out of control. Simple solution to that. I thank Renata in person, ease her mind, and we go our separate ways.

My stained, scuffed sport coat was draped over the entranceway chair where I deposited it upon returning to my apartment last evening. I thought fleetingly of just throwing it on again for today. That was the thing about black. It hid blood quite well. However, I reminded myself that I had more pride than that, lowly and quiet as I may seem, so I settled instead for a clean, wool, autumn coat. Black, of course. Paired with a white button-up shirt and dark grey slacks cinched with a belt.

I prefer a more impeccable, presentable style of dress, one that says more about my taste for finery than my bank account or living space does. It was a good thing that I could choose to keep the latter two private, for they were in stark contrast to my clothing at this point in my life.

Ready and heading for the darkened front door (the bare bulb hanging from the black cord had burnt out three days ago), I grudgingly set off for that little produce shop in Park Row.

Passing by a fresh flower kiosk on the way—conflictingly placed on a sidewalk near a busy intersection where plumes of exhaust were a permanent fixture in the air—I quickly doubled back and impulsively bought a bundle of five pink roses. I would have preferred a gift with more permanence, but I really wasn't keen on expending enough effort to impress anybody. The thought would do nicely.

I kept my eyes on the sidewalk, minding my own business while traipsing over blackened spots of discarded gum, letting the path guide me more than my sense of direction. I passed Renata's workplace more than enough times in the past to have its location tuned on autopilot.

Upon arrival, I stood in front of the double-wide door, which was open invitingly to customers despite the chill in the air. I had no need to enter, I found her in no time at all, chatting with a co-worker. Her hair wasn't confined to a scraggly ponytail like yesterday. Today it fell in dark, choppy waves that brushed her collarbone. Certainly more flattering, if I were in any position to be a judge.

She spotted me before I even thought of a way to get her attention.

"Oswald!" she said brightly, grinning. She excused herself to the co-worker and bounded over to meet me. "Well look at that, the swelling has really gone down quite a bit. How are you feeling?"

Damn. She wanted to engage in small talk. I was never really good at it.

"All things considered, better than yesterday," I replied casually.

"Great! Happy to hear it. You know, it was really eating me up inside that you were attacked like that, it's a relief to see you're not seriously hurt."

I produced the flowers from behind my back. "A small token."

Renata was momentarily stunned as she took them in. "Oswald," she said in mild astonishment, accepting them. "Thank you. You didn't have to go out of your way."

"Well, I guess I'm just a little indebted to you," I admitted.

"You didn't have to get me anything, though," she said sweetly, delicately touching and admiring a few petals. "Really. I was glad to help. Thank you, I love them."

The offer was rife. I could act the weasel and slink away, accepting that answer as closure to any other future exchange between us, but that wasn't a guarantee. One day I could get that call from her about a favor needed. Networking was an extremely useful commodity when one resided in Gotham, but I had to make doubly sure that I wouldn't be indebted to Renata forever, only to have it resurface at the wrong time. I doubt any connections she had would get me far up the ladder anyway.

But again, my mother.

"Hey," Renata said suddenly, eyes brightening. "I'm actually going to be off in about three minutes, I've got a couple coupons for that bistro just down the street. You can join me if you'd like."

Persistent little thing, this one. I automatically thought of a polite way to decline. "Thank you for the offer, but I wouldn't want to inconvenience you again, you've already fed me once."

She waved that excuse away like it wasn't relevant. "Oh don't even worry about that, trust me, it's nothing. Tell you what, I'll even give you the free meal. Think about it. Come on, do you really have anything to lose?" Her voice was edged with friendly enticement, then she patted me on the shoulder.

I smiled tightly to hide the wince as my bruise throbbing upon contact. "Not at all."

I wanted to stick to my resolve, not be roped in by promises, but I suppose a free meal would be silly thing to pass up. So she pitied me. Pity was fine, I could accept that. It was a better alternative to revulsion. I had to admit, in some secret part of me, I didn't exactly resent the fact that she was trying to something nice for me. Even if she did appear a little clueless as to what I was trying to do.

After a short wait, she disappeared into the shop and reemerged in casual street clothes, wearing a blazingly red V-neck and jeans.

The bistro was a quiet little place, charming in a way. We made nothing but small talk, mostly. We were still strangers after all. Conversation was stilted, but not revoltingly unpleasant.

Although, when she wasn't looking, I still snuck glances at my wristwatch.

* * *

><p>Her workplace just happened to be on my way to the subway train. I couldn't avoid her, she caught me and engaged in a bit of updating on my condition, to which she brought up that she hoped the GCPD would catch the thugs who had done this to me. I still don't have the inclination or the time to crush her optimism, even though I should.<p>

* * *

><p>A few days later, I passed by while on an unrelated errand, merely glancing in the shop window, not expecting her to be there. But she was and had spotted me instantly. She seemed happy to see me, noting how the welt beneath my eye was completely gone now.<p>

* * *

><p>I didn't think she was much when I first met her, but in all this time she barely seemed to notice my...physical shortcomings, as it were. Her eyes never seemed to stray to my hook nose, my deathly limp and thin hair that naturally fell pasted to my forehead, or my screech-worthy smile. In retrospect, I found that maybe my first assessment of her wasn't all that fair. The dimples that appeared on her cheeks when she smiled were quite persuasive. I'd say they were innocent enough to dupe even the most hardened crime boss.<p>

* * *

><p>A week later I dropped in again, grateful for the mildly pleasant conversation of at least somebody who wasn't trying to wring something out of me. It was something to do, at least.<p>

* * *

><p>And again.<p>

* * *

><p>And again.<p>

* * *

><p>Weeks ago I would have been indifferent to the prospect that I had made a friend in Renata. But I did. She sincerely enjoyed my company on a personal level, which I found suspicious and difficult to get used to from years of conditioning to never trust a friendly person. Rough experience taught me enough times that friendliness is a manipulation tactic. I wasn't getting my hopes up with Renata, there was always time for some hidden trait to make itself known, but for the moment I found that I was attracted to the prospect of someone's company. Like a confidante. When you go so long without it, you kind of forget how to miss it.<p>

She didn't speak of business, or finances, or things of an official nature. She spoke of things more on the emotional spectrum; what interested her, what interested me, what her family was like, what my mother was like.

I didn't get this chance often in my life, and somehow I overrode my inhibitions to convince myself to just let me have this. Renata was as harmless as my elderly neighbor who made small talk every time we simultaneously collected our mail. Shaking off a little loneliness in the process wasn't a threat to my ambitions.

And then, presenting itself in the nauseatingly syrupy way that only belongs in movies, there came the day where I would never second-guess her intentions again.

We'd been out for a stroll on a grey day. Can't remember for the life of me what we were talking about or why we had even met up that day. All I remember is that suddenly we were caught in a downpour on a sparsely-populated city sidewalk. Not just a trickle at first and then buckets, no, the rain was an opened floodgate. Renata shrieked gleefully, taken by surprise and tucking her neck into her collar as the cold water trailed down her back. She had left her coat behind again.

There was a hotel several feet ahead. I had just begun unfurling the umbrella I brought with me, just in case, when she linked her arm with mine and hurried for the hotel's awning. Sheltering ourselves underneath it, we stood on the long, red welcome carpet while we were surrounded on three sides by silver sheets. So much for the umbrella. Still, though, I kept it open and leaned the metal stem over my free shoulder, just in case we would need to make a sudden run for anything.

Renata threw her head back and ran her fingers through her damp, increasingly frizzing hair. Mine wasn't so lucky, it was already soaked to the scalp. I gathered it away from my forehead and pressed it flat, slicking it back to keep the water from dripping into my eyes. Renata still had her arm around mine and had buried her face into my wool sleeve, giggling like a child.

Getting a hold of herself and letting her enthusiasm settle, she raked her fingers through her hair again, shaking it out. She clutched my arm like I was her only pillar of balance. Glancing up at me, she returned my smile the instant she saw it.

I never would have considered hypnotism to be one of her hidden skills, but I found myself locked in place just the same. I think it was Renata who moved first, but then again I have no memory of having any awareness of my body within that lapse. She could have asked me anything then and I am certain I would have mindlessly obeyed. Her face suddenly came into sharp focus in my vision, a clarity I had never seen in her features before. A subtle relaxation came about her eyes. It was until we were almost nose-to-nose before I realized we had been closing the gap between us during the entire time I was in my state of limbo.

As if synchronized, as if suddenly realizing what we were both doing, we hesitated. Never for a moment, though, did the line of sight break. Until something overtook me. Inching slow, the gap came to a close. More gentle, more soft than anything I had ever felt in my entire life, our lips melded together in a feather-light touch and instantly my heart overinflated in my chest, almost painfully. Anxiety and thrill, all in one. It was only then that it occurred to me that we were engaging in a kiss.

It didn't last long. Merely a delayed second or two, a simple touch. But it felt like more. Much more. Upon parting, we simply watched one another, mildly dazed.

I almost had a difficult time looking her in the eye. I thought for a frightening moment that maybe her interest was imagined. That my mind only saw what it wanted to see, and so I had just forced myself upon her. An apology was already crawling up my throat and I was ready to voice it when she suddenly grinned at me, bright and blushing, a shy breath of a laugh escaping through her teeth.

I wasn't prepared for what she did next. She turned ahead to wait out the rain in silence and leaned her head against my arm, with the most content smile I had ever seen on her face.

I suppose there was really no natural segue after that, so I did the same. For the first time in a very long time, my smile was genuine.

If only she could feel how tense my body was in the aftermath.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I think you can clearly see the differences in Oswald and Renata's ways of thinking by now.**

**Whoa! Stop everything...I have to say, this is the most fanfare I've EVER had of any of my stories on just one chapter alone! As of publishing this chapter, 6 Reviews, 12 favorites, 21 Follows, and over 250 visitors? I. Am. Floored...can't breathe, guys. Can't breathe...I am so overwhelmed at this response. I just hope you can still all be this enthusiastic when it ends. The pressure is on. One more chapter to go.**

**I worked so hard all day today on this, just to get it perfectly right. I'm using some inspiration from the comics to fill in a few blanks that the show hasn't expanded upon yet.**


	3. Alike

**A/N: I hope you're happy, guys. You made a liar out of me. I said three chapters. Only three chapters. I can't go more than three. But here we are at three, and it's not over yet. Yes, you all convinced me to add an additional chapter. I chose to use this one to shed more light onto certain characters. I am delaying the ending until the fourth installment. You know the power you have over me, readers, I'm too much of a softie...  
><strong>  
><strong>But I have to say that you guys really challenged me in a positive way. This chapter's entirety never even would have occured to me until after I posted the second chapter and the reviews were pouring in about extending 'Necessary Evil'. I was even a little distracted at work one day, writing ideas down on my hand because I couldn't reach a slip of paper in time to collect my thoughts (don't worry, I don't operate heavy machinery or on bodies for a living). Not sure whether or not this chapter is up to par. It is, after all, slightly deviating from my original plan, but ultimately that's up to the readers to judge. Don't be shy to share your thoughts.<strong>

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><p>I've witnessed Renata's vulnerability only once. The incident was sudden and unsolicited. Hours after it was over, when I had time to reflect whilst staring at the ceiling in my dark apartment, I considered us even.<p>

Three days later after the kiss and we still never discussed it, never mentioned it, never asked why, never brought up the subject to elaborate on what it exactly meant between us, whether it signified a growing, greater bond than what we had anticipated, or if it signified a carefree moment we simply took advantage of. The odd thing was, though, that it was clear we both came to a conclusion regardless.

Granted, I have limited experience when it comes to this sort of bonding. In fact, that's how inexperienced I am, I can't even describe the phenomenon I'm speaking of by name because I'm not really sure which affections should be considered official and which should not. After all, friends still greeted eachother warmly. Friends still shared secret smiles that onlookers never knew the meaning to.

Didn't they?

Despite the ever expanding grey area that I needed to figure out for myself, there was one thing I was absolutely, positively sure about. After this particular evening, Renata became an equal to me. Maybe not an exact parallel. Her situation growing up had different branches, different sets of variables than mine that led her to the person she was today, but the fact remained that we both knew what it was like to feel like the scum of the earth, and what is was like to feel alone and scared because of it.

That mid-October night didn't start out with me knowing what she was about to share with me. I didn't _really_ plan ahead on meeting her, nor did I purposely seek her out. Circumstances just came neatly into place.

I had no business leaving my apartment and aimlessly wandering the neighborhood, but I was having a restless night. Sleep wouldn't come to me for no other reason that it simply refused to take me tonight. A bracing stroll on an autumn evening seemed like something viable to do. Not productive, just something.

At 9:00 PM, Renata had to have been closing shop for the night. Chancing a walk by, just for the sake of habit, I took the familiar sidewalk to that tiny Greek shop.

Passing the alley just in time, I caught her (_her_, not a co-worker, not any other nighttime staff) yanking down the metal gate over the shop and snapping shut the industrial padlock. Serendipity, I suppose. I placed my hands in my coat pockets, minding my own business, waiting for an appropriate opening to get her attention. A trail of water, dark and shimmering like oil, seeped from the back alley's opening, draining into a sewer off the curb.

Standing upright, she spun and motioned to place her keys in her pocket when she glanced up and her soprano gasp pierced the still air. She wheeled back a step, pressing a hand to her chest.

Evidently my sudden appearance had scared her. I raised my hands. "Whoa, whoa, relax, it's just me."

To be fair, in her eyes I imagine I must have looked predatory at first glance. All of my features were washed out in a spotlight of artificial orange, underneath the streetlamp hanging above our spot. The long shadow of the wooden telephone pole didn't help matters, as it cast an atmospheric streak of shadow across me, like some sort of branding that identified me as dangerous.

Renata's tense shoulders lowered by a margin. She squinted, peering questioningly at me. "Oswald? What are you doing here?" She looked over her shoulder, then to the keys in her hand, back to me.

I shrugged casually as if nightstalking Gotham's crumbling infrastructure was something I happened to do regularly. "Couldn't sleep."

"Oh. Something weighing on your mind? Do you need to talk?"

No...well, yes. Maybe.

"Nah." I shrugged. "Just...needed some air to clear my head."

Renata nodded understandingly. And just like that it suddenly happened. We were both thinking the exact same thing. I saw it in the way she looked at me. Her smile was putting too much effort into coming off as earnest but oblivious. We were both thinking about that little interlude under the hotel awning, and the question on both our minds was who was going to be the first to acknowledge it.

A skip of hope puttered somewhere in my chest. I anticipated for Renata to invite herself to walk with me so that I wouldn't seem too forward. I'm not sure what it was exactly, but I just felt lighter when she was around. I told myself that my interactions with people in the past easily explained that: I simply attached myself to those who looked out for me. It wasn't a good habit. A sip or a taste of that rather addictive sensation should by all means have been good enough to satisfy me, just to rid myself of the tiny, crawling urge, but that was never the case. I kept finding myself wandering back to Renata because, in the basest terms possible, she made me feel pleasant. Like maybe I mattered to someone.

Oh, to hell with it.

"Would...would you like to join me?" I ventured, quickly thinking to slide my hands into my pockets to appear aloof. "Though I imagine you've probably got many other things to do at home."

Renata paused only a beat. "Yeah. I mean, no, yeah, sure," she said breathily, no doubt still trying to calm her racing heart. "I mean, _yes_, I wouldn't mind. Anywhere in particular?"

"Robinson Park isn't too far from here. It's not a bad place for a stroll, if you ask me."

Placing her keys in her pocket, she walked over and stepped in line right beside me, beaming sidelong. "Lead the way, then."

At the time I thought it was too easy, her agreeing to walk with me, alone, in the dead of night. In Gotham City, no less. I would find out days later that she did so because she was quite eager to sort out our _status,_ as it were. Not to mention the added comfort of the tube of mace—a gift from her father—sitting handy in her pocket in case we, or just she alone, found ourselves in a hostile situation. I had to commend her, she wasn't too sharp on picking up hints, but she did have enough mind to think ahead.

The cool night air was more refreshing than I thought it would be, the breeze was like a gentle caress. Wet gristle crunched under our shoes. Soon Renata and I fell in step, watching our shadows stretched long and bobbing at an angle ahead of us. I tried to think of a good conversation starter, something to ease into, but my mind was clouded with reliving that kiss under the awning. It was as though Renata's presence right beside me gave life to my memory, making the scene all the more vivid in my head.

"So, how have you been, Oswald?" she piped up first, relieving me of that duty. I faced her to realize she was already looking at me—positively, I might add, which was a good sign.

"Not bad, can't really report anything new. Yourself?" I countered politely.

"Ah, can't complain."

No doubt in my mind this was going to be harder than I initially thought. However, we both seemed to be in such a pleasant enough mood that I didn't want to disrupt it with the pinprick of confrontation.

"I see you remembered a coat this time," I tried.

She laughed sheepishly in response.

The cracked sidewalk gave way to an empty intersection. A crosswalk ahead lead to one of the many entrances of Robinson Park. Entering through the masonry lightpost pillars serving as entry, our shoes crunched onto the gravel path. Our steps purposely slowed, meandering more than actually walking.

Lightposts lit the trail at uniform intervals, spreading even amounts of lamplight that flawlessly blended into the next. Many trees had shed the majority of their yellowed leaves, dappling the browning grass that was slowly being killed by frost.

"Hey," I spoke up softly, just wanting to make a sound to get her attention. "Thanks for stepping in that day."

Renata turned her attention to me. I couldn't help but think I had interrupted her musings.

"Oswald, you've already thanked me, you don't have to feel obligated to repay me. Unless that's why you asked me to tag along with you tonight. That's not what this is, is it?"

I detected a tone of hurt.

"No, no, nothing like that," I said quickly to quell her concerns. "I only want to take this opportunity to thank you better."

Renata looked puzzled. "Better? How can you thank me better?"

"By being sincere this time. I haven't known very many people in my life who would do what you did. So thank you."

She focused tightly on me now. Her expression almost looked suspicious, but not quite. "Then the people you've known are monsters if just telling some lowlife assholes to leave you alone is making you feel this indebted to me."

In all honesty I shouldn't have been encouraging her behaviour by acting grateful. Gotham City was not a forgiving place. However, while I have survived worse, I suppose I should have been a little more grateful that I didn't go home that day with a crushed orbital socket or an unhinged jaw. She deserved recompense for that, at least.

My face was heating. The embarassment of requiring another person's help was resurfacing.

Meanwhile Renata's expression had gone apprehensive. "Oswald, can I ask you something?"

I wasn't sure what to expect. "Of course, anything."

"Does that kind of thing happen often? Getting beat up, I mean."

I shrugged, trying to play her seriousness off. "Pretty much my whole life, if you want me to be honest."

I didn't want to get into specifics, this didn't feel like the time nor the place. I was glad that it was just us two for the moment, I don't think I could stand the humiliation of another person knowing that being pummeled into the ground wasn't a rare occurence for me. The men and women at the top of Gotham's food chain pulled themselves up by their bootstraps, never letting minor obstacles impede their progress. If there was anything I could emulate from them, that would be it.

Renata's face softened. Her eyes roved me over as if I had pulled back a curtain and she was finally able to see me for the first time.

"I'm sorry people treated you that way," she said. Glancing down at our hands, she reached and wrapped her fingers daintily over mine. "Very sorry."

I managed to keep my hand still, but what I really wanted to do was shake her off and change the conversation's direction. My willingness to approach this subject was stretched thin, there was really no point in reliving what I'd been through. It was all in the past, I learned from it, it's over. What more was there to say?

The pressure of Renata's fingers strengthened over mine. All I could hear was the atmospheric hum of the night. I think her touch was the only thing that kept me from floating away entirely into my own musings.

"I won't pretend to know what it must have been like for you," she said consolingly.

"And you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Forgive my forwardness, I mean no disrespect, but you wouldn't be this passionate about the subject if you weren't in some way affected by it at some point in your life. Am I right?"

Renata's mouth bobbed as she struggled to form words. Realizing speech was futile for the moment, she got quiet. My question had turned the tables so quickly that it seemed to derail her.

Finally, she spoke. "You're right. It is something that affects me personally."

"What happened?"

She smirked, cocking a coy eyebrow at me. "Oh, you're good, you know that? Fine, then. Now that we're sharing, it's only fair, I guess. Tell me when you get bored, alright?"

Choosing the next bench we came across, we both seated ourselves. What followed was a near half hour-long account of the worst event she could recall of what she endured through her own tormentors.

"As you've probably noticed, I'm not exactly thin," Renata began with a grimace, like a bad taste was left in her mouth after uttering the words. "I definitely wasn't in middle school either."

As Renata had disclosed to me, she had been overweight in her younger years. While that wasn't too hard to guess, judging from a more contoured, hourglass figure she sported now, from her account she had been quite pudgy and round during her junior high school years.

Thirteen at the time, everything came to a head when her regular tormentors, a group of three female classmates, took a prank too far.

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><p>The school day had been coming to a close. Most students had already filed out, heading for home. Renata was short on time to catch her bus because she was forced to serve a half-hour detention for being late that morning. Hurriedly collecting her backpack and shutting her locker, the three who she most dreaded to see were also leaving their Photography Club meeting.<p>

Renata spotted them first. She sank her neck into her collar like a turtle and tried to move quickly past them. Suffice it to say, they wouldn't let her off easy that day.

"Hey, Fatty Renatty, how you doing?" drawled the brunette called Samantha in a mockingly pleasant tone.

"Fine," mumbled Renata, flinching from the sting of their favorite nickname, rushing through.

"Where you going?"

"Home," she answered fleetingly. This response stood as an example to how much power they had over Renata: She would answer everytime, regardless of how much distance she wanted to put between them.

Samantha was the worst of the three, though that didn't make Sydni and Danielle better in comparison. Both girls were on the opposite spectrums of blond, one dishwater and one platinum respectively. Samantha was their idea girl, their instigator.

Renata recalled the next moment going by so fast that she was already wearing a mop as a wig by the time she registered what happened.

Sydni's long legs, useful for her role on the basketball team, overtook Renata. The blonde yanked open a supply closet parallel to the two of them. Suddenly feeling hands behind her shoulders, Renata was launched into the small room, crashed into cleaning supplies and stocking shelves against the wall, and suddenly everything went black.

The shrieking laughs of all three girls was muffled on the other side, but Renata heard their mockery as sharp as if the sounds were right in her ear. Scrambling to stand, Renata threw herself into the door, fumbling for a handle that wasn't there. The door only opened and locked from the outside. The darkness was absolute, save for a small rise at the bottom that allowed for a thin crack of light.

"Let me out! Please!" Renata wailed, seizing with the beginnings of panic.

"We're putting you on a diet, Ratty," chirped Samantha. "Maybe a few hours in there will keep you from stuffing your face for a little while."

"Or she'll just start eating the chalk," chimed in Sydni.

Renata clawed as if she could scratch right through the barrier. "P-Please, don't leave me in here," she cried.

Getting Renata to cry was the result the girls usually sought, and occasionally it worked. Whether it was mashing a wad of bubblegum into Renata's hair during class, or "accidentally" tripping her during gym and skinning her knees, they lived for the reaction. But this time was different, these were tears driven by fear, not the silent ones that made her run away. Renata didn't want to give them what they wanted, but there was some hope in that if Samantha, Danielle, and Sydni got what they were looking for, they'd cut the joke short.

"See you in a few hours. Do a few jumpingjacks if you get bored. Or make-out with the brooms, or something," jeered Samantha.

"No! No, please, don't go, don't go!" Renata sobbed. She didn't care that she was entirely dependant on the people who hated her, she was relying on them to free her. "You have to let me out!"

The snickering and squeaking of their shoes got more and more distant until it disappeared entirely. The halls were evidently empty, for nobody else heard her. Not a single janitor passed by, as that particular hall had already been cleaned.

Renata bashed her fists against the door until her bones throbbed and her skin stung. She screamed until her lungs ripped apart, hoping that the volume would carry over to the other side of the school if teachers were staying late to grade papers, or if the principal was still in his office. Renata soon found out that the door had been padlocked—she could hear the metallic pop following every assault on the door.

When nobody returned for her after twenty minutes, Renata curled up to the thin sliver of light on the floor, watching it for hope of seeing the double shadow of feet pass by, all whilst bawling into her crossed arms.

The school's overhead lights switched off two hours later, plunging her into darkness. Samantha, Sydni, and Danielle never came back. Renata crawled into a corner, feeling around for boxes to make a sort of fort around her. She imagined claws coming for her in the darkness, scraping blindly at her jacket. She wanted barriers on all sides to feel safe, for not being able to see sent her imagination to conjure shapes in the darkness. She curled her knees into her chest, using her backpack as a pillow.

Meanwhile, Renata's parents were hysterical that their only child never came home. Because she was only a susceptible pre-teen at the time, the police involved themselves immediately.

The way her parents told it to her, the two responding officers had to follow code and ask a series of questions involving Renata's last wherabouts, and if they knew whether or not she made it to school that morning.

Midnight had passed before the investigation was brought to the school grounds, to which Renata had long since exhausted herself to sleep. Several calls were made to key holders of the school. The investigation deemed it necessary to enter the building and review security footage of the school halls and attendance sheets to narrow and confirm a time and place of Renata's disappearance.

Her parents were ordered to stay home and wait to see if their daughter would come home voluntarily if she were able to.

In the early morning hours, Renata startled awake in her tiny prison when she heard her name being called.

"Renata?"

She was disoriented and hadn't a clue what time it was. It could have been the start of the next school day for all she knew. She stayed absolutely still, unsure if the calls were real or just a mental manifestation. A woman was calling her name. Not her mom, though, but that didn't matter, somebody was looking for her.

A surge electrified Renata's limbs and she sat up so quickly that spots of light danced in her vision. Pushing the box fort she made out of her way, she scrambled on all fours to the door. The voice was getting further away.

"Here!" she croaked. Her voice hadn't quite caught up. On her knees, she raised her fists high and bashed the door, smashing the boniest parts of her hands against it to make the most sound possible. "I'm in here, let me out!".

The woman must have doubled back because suddenly her voice was closer, right outside the door.

"Oh honey, there you are, your parents were so worried. Everything's going to be alright now, I'm a policewoman, okay? My name is Detective Sarah Essen. I'll get you out in a jiffy."

Clearly the woman had found the padlock when the door didn't open immediately. The crackle of a radio sounded and she said something into it, no doubt notifying her partner that Renata had been found alert and responding.

Renata buzzed with anticipation at finally being freed, but what she didn't know at the time was that the police don't carry universal keys or lock picks with them at all times. Sarah was quiet, no doubt assessing the predicament Renata was in.

"I'm going to need you to be brave and hold tight for a few minutes. It looks like I don't have a key for this lock. I'm going to call someone to unlock it, okay?" Sarah had to raise her voice a notch to be heard through the heavy-duty door, but still managed to keep her tone compassionate and soothing.

Renata swallowed her whimper. "Okay."

Another crackle of the radio and Sarah changed her tone to an official one as she contacted dispatch for a 24-Hour locksmith service.

"Don't leave me!" Renata said, yelling in case the policewoman was already halfway down the hall.

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart, I'm staying here, right here with you until the locksmith comes." To the policewoman's credit, her voice still came from the same general area, she hadn't even motioned to walk away.

Renata tried to unwind, but the tension of not knowing whether she was ever going to be discovered had seriously affected her. She had to keep reminding herself that the date was a Thursday when she was locked in, not a Friday which would lead to the weekend. It sent chills of anxiety whenever she thought about the school standing deserted for the entire weekend while she was trapped within it.

Sarah sat down on the floor. "Your name is Renata, right?" she asked.

"Uh huh."

"And what's your last name?" The child's last name had been exchanged to the police from her parents already, Sarah just wanted to ease Renata into speaking as a distraction.

"Laskaris."

"You have very unique names, Renata. You don't hear those very often in Gotham City. Are they Greek? I know your parents said they were originally came from Greece."

"Um, my last name is, but my first name isn't really used a lot over there. I think that's what my mom told me."

"Is that right?"

Idle chit-chat made the time pass surprisingly fast. Sarah had distracted Renata enough to keep her occupied for such a time that Renata remarked on how quickly the locksmith arrived.

However, even though Renata was returned home _physically_ unharmed, the investigation wasn't over. Answers were still necessary to questions of who had sealed her in the building afterhours and if the school would be liable for neglect and emotional damages if a staff member was found guilty. After some coaxing, Renata finally spilled everything about the escalating bullying she'd been going through for years.

Samantha, Sydni, and Danielle's families were notified about the serious accusations. Fearfully, the girls claimed that they locked Renata in the supply room as a prank, they always intended to come get her within a half hour, but when the school's front doors were locked too, they could not enter again and were scared to notify anyone. So they didn't. When Renata heard their explanation, she could not discern whether their excuse was honest or fabricated, but it didn't matter, they had meant harm and the damage was done.

The three were suspended from school and Sydni was taken off the basketball team, but nothing more came of the incident.

Meanwhile, the trauma Renata experienced pulled her out of school for a week. Mr. and Mrs. Laskaris unregistered her within the month and she moved on to a new school.

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><p>"I know it doesn't sound like a very serious thing on paper, getting trapped in a room for several hours. I came out okay for the most part, I suppose, but that <em>fear<em>, that absolute hopelessness for those few hours when I didn't know what was going to happen to me, I can still remember it so clearly. And that those girls never cared what happened to me, that was the worst feeling of all. Like I didn't matter."

I saw the signs before the show even started. Renata's chin dimpled, tensing. Her lower lip protruded by a tiny measure and quaked before she mashed her upper lip over to control it.

I confess with no pretense, I am an emotionally blocked man. My father put a stopper to that early in my life. Surprisingly, it doesn't bother me as much as it used to. He got what was coming to him.

That isn't to say that I didn't feel some sort of bonding empathy to Renata's story, but my life-long training of inability to express those feelings kept me at bay. Unheard to her, I was begging in my mind like a stuck record for her not to do what I knew she was going to do. _Please don't, please don't..._

I've never known the proper etiquette to soothe a sobbing person. I clasped my hands in my lap, looking pensively at the ground, willing myself to not reflexively shrivel and brace my legs against her in avoidance, as if she were suddenly something disgusting and repulsive.

While I didn't—couldn't—say a thing to ease the situation, I conceded by simply sitting there, absorbing her words. Neutrality was my only tried and true method of feedback, the one I always fell back on when I simply didn't have an answer. Cliches weren't going to help her because they were never helpful at all.

__Kids are cruel.__

_Just ignore them._

_They're only jealous._

Excuses. People like Renata and I? We wished for _solutions_, and they never came, never when we needed them. We both had to uproot and rearrange our lives in order to accomodate those who found us problematic. Those who by all means had very little authority in our lives. Not knowing any better, we had given our taunters all the authority they needed, serving it up on a golden platter by way of taking their ridicule because we felt we had to.

And suddenly, Renata was not just a kind friend to me, but an equal. A victim of a society that shunned her.

Unlike me, however, she never adapted. It's the only reason why she went out of her way to chase off my attackers instead of staying silent and carrying on with her business. Truth be told, I wouldn't have helped someone like me if I stumbled onto a violent scene like she did. The sap on the receiving end would have probably had it coming.

Just like I did.

Renata sighed, her frustrated breath a steaming cloud rising in the chilled air. "You know, after years and years you think you'd be so far removed from these things that it doesn't make sense to still be hurt by them. But it does. It does still hurt in a sense."

"It never really goes away," I offered, concentrating especially hard on a dead leaf beside my polished shoe. Those were the first words I'd said in a long while.

"Not really, no," she agreed, looking down at her feet as well, crossing her arms for warmth and leaning her elbows on her knees.

Life never afforded me the greatest start either. I could never make it as a bruiser, an intimidator, a seducer. I wasn't built for that. However, people like us still had a fighting chance to stand proudly on our own two feet. There were two things our experiences could teach us. Strategy and cunning. Renata had yet to tap into her potential. Meanwhile I had already accepted my role as thus.

I knew of one thing I could do for the moment, though. One that I hoped could subdue her building emotion and help her comprehend that she wasn't alone. A bundle of nerves knotted in the pit of my stomach, but I didn't want to hesitate like last time. All I hoped for was that I silently had her permission. Guiding her chin for her to face me, I noticed a subtle redness in her eyes. Stroking my thumb across Renata's cheekbone, reveling for a moment in being able to touch her without her recoiling, I pressed my lips to hers.

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><p><strong>AN:** **Hey DC, if you need anybody to adapt the T.V show into a series of novel tie-ins, call me ;) C'mon, Sleepy Hollow and Supernatural have tie-in novels, why not Gotham?**

_Guest 1_ - Oh dear, you're not registered on the site so I couldn't personally send a message to you. If it's alright with everyone, I'll answer unregistered reviews here. Just skip if you feel it disrupts the flow from chapter to chapter.  
>Not to worry, Guest! OOCness is one of my berserk buttons in fanfiction, I stress great importance in keeping in line with the character's established personalities. I felt safe with applying this type of story to Penguin though, because canonically in the comics and Animated Series he has fallen in love before, and some of those women had been kind enough to reciprocate. I would never write a story like this with The Joker, or Zsasz, or Killer Croc or anything. Sorry if you felt the page breaks were disruptive. You're right, they were meant to signify time lapses. I will say that it kind of hurt me as a writer to have to use so many of them, I usually stress to myself to take things slow and let the audience spend some time with the characters first, but I feel that this story, or at least the type of story I'm trying to make, is more suited to more of a flashback type narrative rather than in real time and in sequence as it's happening. Ultimately I feel as though this story isn't necessarily about the development of the relationship itself, it's how Oswald deals with it when confronted with the possibility of one.<br>Thank you, though, for voicing your concerns, I really appreciate your honesty :)

_Aaron_ - That's very sweet, thank you! I consider it the greatest compliment when someone thinks I write well :D

_Table_ - I chalk it up to that Penguin might tend to gravitate towards people who show him at least a small smidgen of respect. And okay, yeah, that little thing about willing to lower the ransom kind of got a dark chuckle out of me.

_Cee_ - It's fantastic to know if I'm presenting his character correctly, that's great to hear :D

_tara_ - I will, thank you for leaving your comment


	4. Reflection

_Dammit_. What was I doing?

The morning after was a sobering experience, bringing to me a flurry of questions and second guesses I should have asked myself long ago.

Our night ended with us parting ways, and I had done the chivalrous thing by walking her home to an ancient brick rowhouse in an older area, to which she thanked me and gave me a parting embrace that lasted just a few seconds too long. Longer than considered normal for mere friends. My own return to my apartment is something I can barely recall, I was on some sort of high, practically floating rather than walking; put-together on the outside, but positively buoyant on the inside.

Now that last night's encounter had time to stew for many hours, hindsight helped me see that I was making a huge mistake, the same one I'd made with every other girl I had taken a fancy to during the course of my life: placing them on a pedestal.

I rose groggily and sat at the edge of my bed to slouch and contemplate. Periwinkle light peered through the window parallel to me. Even then, it was bright enough to make me blink rapidly. The sun was rising but hadn't yet peeked over the horizon yet.

Surely Renata was different from the others, though. For one, she reciprocated my interest. I thought long and hard about whether I was attracted to her simply because she respected me, or if I was legitimately smitten, come Hell or high water.

Floodgates opened in my mind. Thoughts that were dormant, seeming to be waiting for the right opportunity, rushed through.

Renata was all wrong for me. My mother would probably offer one of her many quaint idioms in a situation like this, telling me that opposites attract, but that seemed nauseatingly trite.

I doubled over, holding my hands behind my neck and massaging the nape of my scalp in thought. Was Renata after something from me? It wouldn't be the first time I've fallen for such a trick. Anna-Jane Kopecky in eighth grade pretended to be nice to me in exchange for sneaking her and her friends into free movies, back when I had a part-time job sweeping up discarded popcorn at the neighborhood theater.

At thirteen years old, I considered her the most beautiful creature on the planet, I would have done anything for her. Even her braces added a literal sparkle to her overall aura. I was young and naive enough to think somebody of her stature could have legitimate interest in me, that she was different from most people who wouldn't give me the time of day. Someone special.

I hadn't yet learned my tough life lessons.

Needless to say, that year ended badly. My mother's comfort was all I had, and I was convinced forevermore that the only woman who could ever truly love me was the most selfless one I knew.

Then again, in the case of Renata possibly seeking advancement, I presently had nothing to my name but a few fancy clothes brought from home, a flaking one-room shelter, and the evaporating residuals of care money my mother insisted I take. There was little material Renata could feasibly want from me.

My desperate nature needed to be contained. Getting my hopes up was an invitation to fooling myself again.

No.

I placed my forehead on my knees, the war inside my head crippling my body. No, she did like me, she _did_. Renata wasn't Anna-Jane. Maybe I meant something to this one. I wasn't defined in Renata's eyes as just a poor, wandering soul she tried to rescue. The fact that she went out of her way to talk to me confirmed that, didn't it?

But it still felt _wrong_ for her to like me by authentic means. What had I done differently this time?

I'd long given up on the idea of finding the romantic side of love for myself. Or, in terms, a _mate_, if my cringe-inducing Penguin nickname ends up following me to the grave. I suppose it's a blessing I wasn't born with my fingers fused together in flipper-like appendages. If there was truly someone out there for everybody, in my case it seemed like too much work to go searching for such an elusive woman.

If I was given a choice and had seen Renata's attributes listed on paper—as if I were in any position to audition potential ladyfriends—hers would have been the shredder's cast-off without a second glance. She was unaware of the blood coursing within Gotham's body. A naivete so deeply-rooted that I had seen first-hand that most needed it beaten out to make them see the truth. That was how far Renata had seeded through my skin and further down; I _cared_ if some stranger, learned in the language of the streets, showed her physically how Gotham City worked. Its corruption, its non-lawful judgement, punishment, and its hierarchy, all in one powerful lesson that would leave her bloodied and broken in the gutter. I _cared_ if she felt pain. And why? Because she was _kind_ to me. Of all the mindless, reflexive reasons in the world...

I buried my face into my hands for some support, my back-and-forth thoughts were exhausting me. The 9:00 AM subway train rattled noisily next door—everyday like clockwork—drowning everything out for a little while, enough to help me concentrate and temporarily clear my head. I never said my apartment was in the respectable area I wanted it to be, but money makes the world go 'round, and for the moment I didn't have enough to budge a pebble. Someday I would. Someday.

I sighed. I needed some air and a strong espresso. The European-style cafe on the street corner was a quiet place I could mull over whilst people-watching. It was something I liked to do, I liked being aware of the goings-on of strangers. I started unbuttoning my silk pajama shirt to get properly dressed. Hopefully I would have sorted out my tumultuous feelings before I saw Renata again tonight.

A sputter of excitement kickstarted my heart.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Screw it, I'm going all in. **_**Necessary Evil**_** has now been extended to seven chapters. All thanks to you beautiful readers. I just can't say no to you all! To a limit, at least, I know when a story has overstayed it's welcome ;) But I think it's feasibly workable to make seven.**

**But honestly, this story will need to come to an end eventually :P The longer it stays, the worse the conclusion will be recieved. There's only so much build-up you can do before the ending becomes lackluster. But for now, this is my promise to you, readers. **_**Necessary Evil**_** will stick around just a little longer than intended.**

**I am still just flabbergasted (what an odd word) at the response to this story *clutches hair* It's beyond anything I could have expected or hoped for! I worship every single one of you readers who has taken a look or a read. Do feel free to tell me what you think, I'm all ears! :D**


	5. Confrontation

Later that evening, an hour after night had fallen, Renata arrived at the very same park bench we occupied a day ago. I told her to meet me there, and I hope she understood the sentiment of my choice. The air was bitter on this night, but the windchill was nonexistent and the stars were in view. Picturesque and brisk.

I couldn't tell if the jolts in my chest were my body's response to warm itself, or anxiety.

I planned a little surprise for her tonight. One not overly affectionate, but thoughtful. Perfectly neutral. Even platonic if need be. One that showed my appreciation, but by not being too presumptuous. Some way to ease the speed of our burgeoning friendship so that it may give me time to think and step back.

Or was I the only party who saw this as something with the potential to be more? I had no concrete answers. My goal for tonight was to simply be quick on the draw to collect myself if she stated during the evening that our relationship was nothing further than two people joined by an incident and a similar childhood experience. I knew it would have come to this eventually, anyway.

A tingle stung my lips. Two kisses, each with their own unique intensity, burned in my memory, and my own heart betrayed me. It heaved inside my ribcage, as if weighed down by a steel ball.

Couples and late-night joggers passed me under the park's abundant lamplight. They were a welcome distraction and I concentrated on the movement around me rather than that which I didn't want to confront. At the time I convinced myself I was sincerely interested in the orange and red reflectors of a passing bicyclist's wheels. That feeling was so strong that I could almost believe it now.

I crossed my arms over my buttoned, black, wool felt coat to radiate a tad more heat in my core. The coat once belonged to my eldest brother, but he had very little use for it now. Monstrously cruel as he was, at least he had good taste.

Within five minutes Renata emerged from the rise to my right, keeping to the gravel path's edge to make way for joggers and bicyclists. She was distinct in a plum colored puffer jacket, hands tucked into the pockets. I may have stood too soon to greet her, she still had a thirty foot trek ahead.

The chill had turned her cheeks rosy, which served to brighten her grin. I was suddenly struck with the realization that I hadn't rehearsed anything to say.

"Whew, bracing, isn't it?" she said as she met up with me, shoulders hunched tight. Of course she meant the weather.

"If you prefer another time, we can reschedule, or-"

"No, no need, now is a perfectly good time. A little cold never hurt me, I don't mind."

"Neither do I."

I risked a polite smile, which she returned.

Her dark brown hair—black in the night— was free this evening and, noticeably, smoother than normal. Her eyes seemed boldened somehow, and that's when I detected the simplistic outline of eyeliner.

"So! What's this surprise all about?" she inquired brightly.

The idea of knowing something someone else didn't thrilled me. "A small token.".

"Again with the payback? Oswald, I told you, I'd sooner walk on broken glass than accept something from you."

"No, you wouldn't."

"I'll be tempted."

I let her harmless threat slide. "I can promise in all honesty that this meeting of ours isn't about that day. I thought perhaps a treat was deserved between the both of us. Would that be okay with you?"

Her expression softened. "Oswald, you know you don't have to ask my permission to do something nice. That's very sweet of you."

I pretended to be unfazed and shrugged off her comment, when in truth I might have been a little flattered. "Shall we, then?"

She smirked in good humor. "Alright then, keep your secret. I'll trust you."

Side by side we set off for the exit, me just a couple inches further to guide her. We easily blended with the other park goers. I had the smallest urge to offer my left arm to Renata, but that would have implied we were of equal level to the sweethearts and lovers doing the same. No, best to maintain our supposed neutrality.

Leaving the park behind, we passed three city blocks before arriving to our destination: a mid-upscale restaurant. Nothing too fancy. It did have a sidewalk patio complete with sun umbrellas, afterall, but certainly a place that deserved smartly-dressed attire.

"Can't say I've ever been here before," said Renata, reading the elaborately lit sign above us.

Neither had I, but a little good luck came my way in the form of a waiter employed there. And by good luck I mean that he owed me a favor. A free meal was a good place to start, but I think many would agree that a one-time discount didn't _quite_ make up for agreeing to stay silent about the little counterfeit operation. Situated in his place of employment's basement, no less.

Now that we were seated in a red velvet, half-circle booth, Renata appeared mildly bothered while she scanned the laminated, leather-bound menu.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

"Just...everything looks a little pricey." She suddenly realized the subtext of her words. "I-I mean, I would never assume or pry into your financial situation, or anything," she stuttered quickly.

"Renata, look at me."

She did as told.

"For tonight, prices are invisible to you."

Renata paused uncertainly. "Oswald, I couldn't ask you to do that."

"But you didn't. I offered."

"And you're sure it's okay?"

"Absolutely."

She seemed appeased, but the discomfort hadn't entirely disappeared from her face. I suppose it was one step in the right direction that she might not be after monetary gain.

"Thank you. For agreeing to meet me again," I said. "I appreciate your company."

I noticed her reddened forehead above the menu. I glanced at the ceiling, wondering if she happened to be seated underneath an air conditioner vent. I didn't feel cold, though.

"I appreciate you inviting me," she replied from behind her menu.

I refrained from confronting her just yet about...the thing we needed to discuss. It would be impolite to question her in the midst of distractions, and she seemed more preoccupied with dinner choice than anything else. No matter. The delay would give me time to plan a strategy.

Just as planned, the waiter I had a deal with greeted us. Joel was his name. I played it casual, acting as though I'd never met the young man. Likewise, he wasn't a bad actor himself, even if he did seem more attentive to Renata. No sense in letting her in on this, it was a matter young Joel would have rather kept from as many ears as possible, and I was honorable enough to oblige.

I requested the citrus-glazed salmon, while Renata chose the shrimp linguine. I couldn't help but notice how her meal was one of less costly ones, barring appetizers. Could have been coincidence, but it would have been rude of me to inquire.

* * *

><p>We were an hour in and I hadn't even attempted to breach the subject of why I wanted to talk to her in the first place. Procrastination was my strong suit tonight, and it normally never was.<p>

* * *

><p>In-between some carefree banter our dinner was finished, and I still never brought it up.<p>

I left the booth to find Joel, pretending that I was going to pay, just to keep up appearances. The kid would take care of everything, as promised.

We left the restaurant well-fed and in good spirits. The evening was still young and we both weren't quite ready to go our separate ways just yet. Walking off our meal sounded like a good plan.

Idly chatting about nothing of great importance, we followed the sidewalk, lit by restaurants and shops that got fancier and fancier the further we got. Someday I would make myself worthy of walking along this street. I would make doubly sure of that.

"I don't know," Renata was saying. "If I had the choice, I'd love to visit Spain one day. I hear the-"

A shrill, one-note whistle pierced the air, the kind meant to signal somebody's attention. By reflex, Renata and I looked over our shoulders to find a valet with greased-back hair on his smoke break. His eyes were concentrated on Renata.

"I'm digging the bounce you got back there, sweet cheeks," he called, nodding indulgently and taking another drag.

Renata faced forward immediately, humiliation evident on her face. She ignored the man and started forward again.

I stayed put.

"I'm sorry, sir," I said under the influence of compulsion. "Would you care to repeat that? I don't think I heard you correctly."

I was willing to let him believe I was giving him the benefit of a doubt, but I was absolutely positive I hadn't misheard. My voice is breathy and weak on the worst of days, but a hardened edge laced every word I said right then.

Renata realized what I was doing and doubled back. "Oswald, it's okay," she began, almost looking at the valet apologetically. I was appalled at her nerve. She motioned to take my hand, but I promptly slipped it out of her reach.

"No. No, it's not. Sir, you are going to look this woman straight in the eye and you are going to apologize to her."

The cigarette hung limply in the cretin's mouth like he was mildly confused.

"You being serious right now?" he said. "Jeez, dude. Sorry, whatever, calm down."

That was the best we were going to get. He wasn't threatened by me in the slightest. Maybe he even considered my challenge comical and would laugh about it to his friends later, but I got what I came for. Glaring, I wrapped my arm possessively over Renata's shoulders and steered her to continue our intended path.

I heard a scoff behind me.

"Why would I even want your chick anyway?" the valet called after us. "She's so fat she waddles like a penguin!"

The quip sent a massive shockwave. I felt everything, from Renata's stricken flinch beside me, to a triggered, insatiable rage in my gut. I released her hand instantly. Renata gasped and swiped for my arm, but she only grabbed the air I displaced.

The valet's nose was a spurting red fountain before his body hit the sidewalk. Kneeling over him and grabbing a fistful of his red silk waistcoat, I jabbed my elbow as far back as I could and launched my fist into his smug face again.

"Stop, Oswald! Stop it!" Renata begged.

I only had a vague notion of her precense, I was a man possessed.

The valet only now seemed to be coming to his senses after the daze of the initial punch wore off. By then I already got plenty of hardhitters past his defences. The damage I inflicted was exhilerating. I wanted to hear bones crack, I wanted to hear his cries _beg_ me to stop. More punishment, he deserved _more_. One after the other led to another, and another.

Renata attempted to encircle me around the middle and haul me off herself, but I overpowered her, I would not be moved. Next she attempted to catch my arm before it met it's target another time.

"That's enough!" she screamed.

Something about her proximity to my ear snapped me to my senses. Like a machine put to a halt, I came around and stopped, but my fist stayed hovered in the air, curled and ready, twitching to resume. I was huffing savagely through my nose from the effort, but I suppose enough really was enough. I rose to my feet, holding the valet in my warning gaze. The man was still conscious and stared up at me, horrified.

That fear was satisfying. Intensely satisfying.

"You're crazy, man!" he yelled, clumsily standing and holding his gushing nose. He bolted, shouting over his shoulder. "You're a goddamn _freak_!"

The scuffle attracted some attention. I noted more than a few gawkers, but in typical Gotham fashion they did nothing.

I felt hands clutch my elbow.

"What did you do, Oswald?!"

Adrenaline still burned my limbs and I actually needed a moment to remember what set me off. "He was out of line," I said simply.

"But what if that guy needs an ambulance? What if you do?"

I felt a small pang of offense when she mentioned the valet before me. Knowing that he was long gone, I faced her. "Why did you take that?" I demanded quietly.

"Take _what_?" Her voice was high-pitched, clearly still rung from what she had just witnessed.

"He insulted you."

Renata had completely intended to walk away and let that guy have power over her. Her hurt was real, I felt it when her fingers tightened around mine and her chin sank into her collar. Our small audience was dispersing now that they'd seen what appeared to be just a standard couple's tussle.

"What he said wasn't a big deal," insisted Renata. She looked very anxious, looking up and down the street. "I don't want the police to get involved."

I cradled my throbbing hand to my chest, mildly peeved at her worry being centered on all the wrong points. "The police aren't coming," I told her. "The GCPD considers things like this as minor street disputes." Something was to be said for human pride as well. Most never reported their injuries during attacks or brawls for fear of being seen as weak. GCPD files, signed confessions, and reports had ways of getting out into the open.

I couldn't kid myself, either, I know the only way I singlehandedly won that fight was simply because I caught the idiot off-guard and gained the upperhand advantage early. Homicide Unit would have had to shovel what was left of me off the sidewalk had circumstances been different.

"Oh, sweetheart, your hand," said Renata, spotting my stiff, red-smeared knuckles.

My body unwound at the sound of her concern, and for a fleeting moment I felt no pain at all. _Sweetheart_?

Ignoring the valet for the time being, Renata gingerly reached for my arm, unfolding it for a better look. She sighed heavily. Clearly she wasn't pleased with my actions, but sympathy was overriding her displeasure.

"We need to get some ice on that," she said. "My place isn't far, come on."

I knew better than to dawdle. Judging by the short length of her chin to her chest, she wanted to get away from onlooker's stares as quickly as possible. If only invisibility were so easy...

The journey was a quiet one, but not because of any animosity between us. There was simply nothing to say. Perhaps she was even trying to rehearse something to say to me later. Maybe she was scared of me, and that was something I didn't want.

I admit, I was almost offended that she didn't seem to be taking kindly to my defending her. However, I was still trying to figure out for myself just what exactly it was that set me off: the mean-spirited jab at Renata, or the mention of 'penguin'.

I want to make it absolutely clear, I do not become a mindless, lycanthropic animal at the mention of the word. My mind is clear and my thoughts are stable when I hear it. It's the anger, the memories it fills me with, when it's meant as an insult. The way I see it, I'm still leagues more civilized, even when angry, than those who dare use that word against me.

The valet's choice in words were clearly accidental, he couldn't have known, but alas, the word 'penguin' wasn't what set me off as much as I thought it did at first. It has earned my deep loathing, but I acknowledge that I can let it slide off my back if I so choose.

Renata bought me to the same shabby townhouse from yesterday. Entering by key, she switched on the dim lights in the entrance and told me to come inside. Indoors was just as run-down as the outside, but it wasn't at all unliveable. Care and devotion was put into decoration, consisting of family pictures, modest but functional furniture, a threadbare rug in the living room, and a clean though dull hardwood floor.

Renata shrugged her jacket off and placed it on a hook, inviting me to do the same. She crossed the living room and switched on the kitchen light. "I actually live here with my parents, but you don't have to worry about making noise, they're in Greece right now. There's a bathroom just to your left under the stairs. You can rinse off the blood there."

I obeyed. Running my hand under the tap, the blood appeared to solely be the valet's. There wasn't a single open wound on my knuckles, but they were swollen with an ugly, building bruise. Toweling off and stepping out, I found her rummaging back and forth in the kitchen.

"You're not second guessing me, are you?" I asked.

Renata paused. I had redirected the conversation yet again, asking something she wasn't ready for.

"I'm not dangerous," I insisted. "I promise, don't be scared of me. Please."

I didn't add the part of me that admitted to being a little scared of losing her trust. Maybe I was capable of hurting people who deserved it, but not her, never her. I realize now that I probably should have said that out loud, but I didn't.

"I'm not scared of you. I just..." She'd been halfway through putting together an ice-pack and was absent-mindedly shifting it in her hands. "you seem to attract a lot of trouble. Deja vu, huh?" She tried for a light-hearted smile, but there was no humor in it. She was of course referring to the day we first met.

"Trouble usually seems to find me," I said.

"Do you usually have a sensitivity to these kinds of things?"

"That idiot offended you. I think it was uncalled for. Don't ever think that I'm mad at you. Maybe you don't see it, Renata, but I...hold you in high regard."

If I were any good at noticing hints at the time, I could have deciphered then and there when Renata's eyes sparked just before my pause, and then the tiny deflation of her shoulders afterwards, as if she had expected me to say something else. My comment seemed to stay in the air, though, and her smile in response was quite genuine. Overcome, she placed the ice pack on the counter. Before I could even prepare, she closed the gap between us and wrapped her arms around my neck in an embrace.

Not many people know that hugs are dangerously powerful over me. I received so few outside of my mother, and I would pretend that they were inconsequential, that they didn't matter, that they were just hugs. But that never explained away the warmth that would start deep in my core and spread so pleasantly throughout my body whenever one, however rare, happened to me. Embarrassing as it is to admit, I was almost shaking.

I was suddenly hyper-aware of every sensation, and at a loss as to where to place my hands. Apprehensively, I closed my arms as best I could around Renata. In a way, a hug is more complicated than a kiss.

Finally I settled on placing my arms around her rib cage, the perfect midway point.

"I know what you meant to do, Oswald, I know," she said into my shoulder. Her fingers adjusted in-between my shoulder blades, sending a tingle down my spine. "And from the bottom of my heart, I thank you. I just don't want people getting hurt. Least of all you."

I closed my itching eyes for a few brief seconds, drinking in the feeling of her hair against my cheek, the warmth of her body seeping through my sweater. I didn't answer. How could I answer? I just wanted desperately to tighten my hold. Knowing, though, that I had to let go eventually, I was reluctantly the first to part, and she followed.

"You have a good heart," she said, smiling up at me. "I know you do." She snatched the ice pack from the counter. "Come on, we can watch T.V. for a little bit."

Following her and settling onto the couch, she switched on the television, sat next to me, and pressed the ice pack to my knuckles while holding my hand. I was perfectly capable of doing it myself, but the world would have to have been under attack before I'd stop her. Eventually, she would relinquish and leave the job to me.

The channel was switched to some classic station showcasing canned-laugh sitcoms from the 70's.

Most would raise an eyebrow upon hearing that a mid-twenty-something still lived with their parents, but I didn't fare much better. I'd only recently broken free of my mother's grip. It must be noted, I love the woman to death, and after the tragic, _tragic_ accidental death of my dear father, my mother was heartbroken. When I went from fourth child to only child, we became near inseparable.

But that was a long time ago and the city was calling me. I knew she was strong enough to be on her own. She would not budge from her ancient, suburban manor chock full of memories of when our family was whole.

If you ask me, things got better once we weren't.

She wouldn't be able to keep the home for much longer, either way. My father's estate had been drying up with each passing year. The Cobblepot title still had valuable property to its name, but my mother would have to be threatened with living in a cardboard box before she would put any up for sale. Once I got a job good enough to brag about, the first thing I would buy for her would be a well-to-do apartment in the city, to be closer to me.

Renata shifted next to me, bringing me back to consciousness. Without warning, she leaned in of her own volition, placing her hand right over my heart.

I instantly felt the heat of her palm radiating through the cable-knit sweater I wore. My entire body seized at her closeness. I cast my gaze to the ceiling for some sort of visual anchor to keep me still. I hadn't the slightest clue what to do. Even my bones felt like they were curling with a sudden bout of anxiety. My lungs constricted and I suddenly remembered that breathing was an integral part of living. With such pin-point precision that I never even knew I had, I fought to regulate my breaths as I would normally, mechanically, unsuspiciously, as if her body near mine had no effect on me whatsoever, even despite the maddened pulsating of my heart surely giving me away. _In...out...in..._

"Oswald?"

"Hm?"

"I said did you want something to eat, maybe drink? I can make a quick pot of spaghetti, or there's ice cream in the freez-"

"No," I said a little too quickly. "No, no, that's alright. You're all I need. I-I mean, this is all I need, I'm fine, sitting here."

Maybe it was the atmospheric lighting, maybe it was the emotional boost of having somebody to call mine, but in the bluish glow of the T.V, I found her intoxicating to look at. The slope of her nose, the apple of her cheeks, the doe quality of her eyes, the clean line of her jaw...

"What? What are you looking at?"

"Nothing."

She was of a certain type, the easily seen-through person who believed wholeheartedly in textbook good. The type of good that belonged in a snowglobe, idyllic and untouchable. The fact that she remained this way even after bearing witness to society's cruelties remained a mystery to me, one I almost wanted to study.

I acknowledge this outlook's appeal and it's continued presence in the world, but it isn't practical, it isn't applicable, and it isn't what Gotham City ran on. She wanted Gotham to be 'better', but people like her never realize that the city is fine just the way it is. One simply had to know how to navigate it, thus staying out of trouble. Gotham was a place of character.

Renata was still wrong for me in every way possible, and yet at the same time, I was addicted, caught in her gravitational pull of acceptance and the rare sense that I was worth more than what people saw. That a chance, however rare, was still possible.

Suddenly I found that her vocal answer wasn't quite necessary anymore.

A question loomed forward, somewhere from that doubtful, shadowy place where all my inhibiting thoughts were born: Could I give up Renata if I wanted to?

* * *

><p><strong>AN: It's official. **_**Necessary Evil**_** has become my most successful story on my account. This is such a thrill to be writing this, I'm absolutely loving it! Oh, your reviews, favorites, and follows motivate me in ways you guys can't possibly know. They're providing so much insight, I adore hearing your thoughts everybody :D Don't be afraid to be honest, you're helping me become a better writer. I seriously want to avoid making this story nauseating, or even worse, **_**boring**_**.**

_Em_ - Oh shucks, a lovely writer?! You're too kind! I just write what I feel. Makes me giddy as all get out when people respond positively to it.


	6. Gifts

My head must have fallen forward unsupported because I was suddenly startled awake. The T.V. was the first thing to catch my eye. I hooked onto the movement without really taking context in, waiting until my brain attempted to orient itself. An extended second was all it took to recognize my surroundings and recall that I was in Renata's living room.

Glancing to my left, I found her curled up on the opposite end of the couch, her shoulder and head supported on the armrest. The couch was a three-seater, but she managed to squeeze herself onto one cushion, bunching her limbs together.

I wasn't sure who had fallen asleep first, but the bleak indigo light filtering through slats in the window shades told me the time was very early, maybe a full hour before dawn.

I felt perhaps I'd overstayed my welcome. Renata had surely been too polite to stir me when the late hour approached.

Using the T.V's glow to find my way, I gingerly rose to my feet, careful not to disturb the entire sofa. Tugging and straightening my rumpled clothes, I navigated the narrow path between her and the coffee table, heading for the hook carrying my coat. Although, I couldn't resist sneaking a look at her below me as I passed.

One arm hugged across her sternum and wrapped itself protectively over her ribs. Her head was sloped forward, chin resting atop her heart. She would wake up with a monstrously stiff neck, but I would have rather not risked rousing her by repositioning her head. The inclination to plant a leaving kiss on her forehead, like some sort of captivated lovesick hero from the movies, came to mind, but the gesture would be absurd. She'd surely wake, and displays of affection felt strange and foreign to me.

Our previous, spontaneous kisses had been hormonal magnetism, something I didn't have much experience in to recognize the signs before engaging, but I knew better now. I still wonder, though, if that knowledge would have stopped me anyway.

I didn't even know if her sleeping patterns were light or heavy. Heat rose from my collar at the implication that if I found out that type of information, that would have placed me somewhere intimately close to her. That kind of thinking was too far ahead, too presuming, too soon.

Head low, I shuffled to my coat and slipped it on. While adjusting it over my body, I looked over my shoulder at Renata again. She hadn't moved an inch. Her shoulder rose and fell rhythmically in trance-like breathing.

The house key was lying on a side table, right where she placed it last night. The neighborhood was sketchy at best. It was a bit discomforting to know her house, and she herself, would be vulnerable once I left. Turning the doorknob slowly to soften the click, I slinked outside. Shaking off the sudden temperature drop, I closed the door behind me equally as carefully. Locking from the outside, I then slipped the key under the crack at the bottom where hopefully she would find it sitting on the welcome mat.

Turning around and taking a break to absorb the enchanting scene outside, I used the door as a support, leaning my head back onto it, waiting for the blood flow to get started in my legs and carry me home. The whispery morning breeze was like a cool, gentle hand on my exposed throat.

This moment stands out in my memory, because it was the pinpoint where everything I'd been experiencing the past month suddenly became clear to me. It was official. I had fallen, and I fell hard. In like, in lust, in love, what did it matter? I was in a euphoric state brought on by a single person. A woman who didn't recoil at the sight of me, where _'creep' _and _'ugly' _never entered vocabulary when addressing me, where I didn't feel like a snivelling mortal attempting to obtain the affections of an unreachable goddess.

I massaged my eyes to rub away the exhaustion. I pondered hard about why I turned on Renata for not defending herself. Really hard. The answer was very clear to me, though. For that was one more reason we were different—she continued to be a victim. Being accustomed to it did not excuse it.

I refuse to play victim. Hardship was a reluctant struggle to say the least, but ultimately they became necessary learning experiences, and I've become smarter for them. Dare I say, I may even know these streets better than the city's very own organized underworld now. Little time is given for sympathy. Maybe I've become jaded.

To be honest, a couple women passively caught my eye in-between middle school and now, but Anna-Jane Kopecky was the catalyst all those years ago, the one who made me swear off the possibility of love forever. Though, she hadn't directly been the one to utterly destroy me during those vulnerable pre-teen years. It had been her friends. All she did was merely agree with them. Still, it did nothing to erase the humiliation and enduring feelings I simply couldn't turn off.

I fell for Anna-Jane's sugary seduction in the way only a thirteen year old could. I had thought the method of going out of your way to please was what all normal couples did, that it was supposed to be an uphill climb on a bicycle to impress. With Renata everything had been an easy progression. Too easy. This couldn't have been typical.

Admittedly, my social skills are a bit inept. As a child, life at home was not the best teacher. By age seven I grew restless and wanted to socialize. My mother, against her better judgement, just wanted what I wanted, and so, I got to go to an actual school for a couple years. Maybe if I extended myself to others they would reciprocate in kind, maybe I could finally make a friend besides the pigeons in the rooftop coop. Typical child-like optimism. I was just too good of a target for mockery. My awkward gait, the beaky nose that had grown before my face could catch up, my pallid complexion due to a weak immune system.

My three older brothers were Adonis and Narcissus reborn, a standard I could not achieve when I entered this world. The cards were stacked against me right from the start. Even though my brothers screamed their tiny lungs out, they were blazingly pink, healthy, and robust; the perfect babies. My father, Tucker Cobblepot, was so proud.

Then I arrived. Bluish, veiny, misshapen, and as quiet as Sunday Mass. Instead of the beautiful button noses my brothers sported, mine was flattened, overly generous, and downturned. Despite the doctor's assurances that my head would form into a normal shape on it's own eventually, among other irregularities, the first impression was done. Not even a minute old and I already experienced rejection.

Esther Cobblepot's heart was too big, too generous to see anything but another beautiful baby boy. My father, however, remained unmoved. I looked nothing like he had envisioned, and for that reason I was the son that shouldn't have been. The Cobblepot name would be an ashamed attachment to my identity.

Father's affectionless attitude extended to my brothers by exposure to his example. Being young boys, they followed without question as to why, all they saw was what my father saw—something that wasn't like them, therefore didn't belong. My mother was not ignorant of their treatment, but she did her best to lead her own example and openly show me love. It never caught on.

While growing up it was only at her insistence that Robert, William, and Jason play with me. When she was out of range, however, they would continue their games and abandon me. Sometimes in the woods behind our home.

Other times they would make an exception to willingly include me, and I would only be too happy to oblige. I don't know why I always jumped at the chance, because all I became was the scapegoat or prop when they needed one—the horse when they played Knights (even though I was too small for Robert's longer legs), or the stowaway brought before the captains to be served punishment. William was an especially rough pitcher.

As third-born, Jason was more of a lackey than anything, but still just a peg above my level.

The only time I felt semi-wanted was when they would argue over whose turn it was to ride the horse.

Birds were my only friends, mainly the doves and pigeons we kept in the rooftop coop. My nickname was born partly from that. It started with my brothers because I was abnormally short as a child. I hit all developmental growths at late stages and could never quite catch up. The beaky nose added to the illusion. The final reason that made the name stick? I was the only one of my friends that could not fly.

The bullying reached it's apex at age thirteen, after the Anna-Jane debacle. My mother immediately removed me from school and hired a tutor instead. Homeschooling made me feel ostracized, specially picked and taken away from kids my own age, but I had enough sense to know it was for my own good.

Though my father passed on when I was just shy of a decade—pneumonia, poor bastard—sometimes I find myself oddly wishing he had lived much longer, at least until I reached adulthood myself so that I could question him eye to eye, man to man, now that I had experienced the world with eyes a little older, a little less shinier. Is asking a father to love his physically lesser son so hard? A brother to his own flesh and blood?

Sometimes I felt as though Jason could have been the sibling who had the capacity to semi-tolerate me, for he usually just carried out orders rather than actually propose any. Perhaps we could have built a wobbly relationship, but form a semi-solid foundation over time. Father, Robert, and William's influence was much stronger than Jason's conscience, however. Who knows what could have come of it. Maybe once Jason was old enough to speak for himself he could have been my reprieve, just like mother.

Or maybe he would have just become a worse tormentor as his muscles grew.

But alas, none were meant to be, young Jason was the first to go; only nine years old to my seven.

Upon reaching manhood, I had somewhat grown into my face. Somewhat. However, some things can never change. My diminutive appeal, my haunted complexion, and my disdain for society's favor of the beautiful remain.

The bitter wind started to curl through the space underneath my coat and crawl up my torso. It wouldn't have been good manners to ask my host to chip or defrost me off her porch. Snapping out my lapels to provide a small haven, I pocketed my hands and headed home. I wasn't sure what I could possibly do, I had no plans for the day, and I was certainly wide awake enough that sleep would be impossible. I suppose I could peruse the Wanted ads for a fifth time...

* * *

><p>I entered my apartment, stomping my winter boots on the welcome mat, simultaneously shrugging my coat off. Bending to untie my shoes, I almost stamped a mucky print onto a pristine white envelope lying on the mat, sealed flap up.<p>

The presence of it was such an oddity. Post didn't deliver on Sundays. Considering the placement, it had to have been shoved through the crack under the door. It certainly wasn't from Mother, she preferred using the phone to communicate.

With a healthy amount of suspicion, I picked it up and flipped it over.

_For Oswald Cobblepot_ was written in black, fancy cursive, the only words on it. No return address, no sender, and the lack of stamp meant it had to have been personally delivered.

Tossing my coat neatly over a chair, I brought the envelope into the kitchen to hold it up to a working light. A folded rectangular paper appeared to be housed inside. I shook the contents, testing for a sprinkle of a powdery substance into the transluscent corner. Nothing fell from within the folds of the paper inside.

My thoughts immediately fell on Renata being the sender, but they instantly fell apart the more I dwelled on the possibility; she had perfect alibis. Foremost, she'd been with me ever since I left my apartment yesterday. Second, she didn't know where I lived. And third, her writing on the back of her store's business card didn't match the style on the envelope.

Figuring it was safe after inspection, I jabbed a finger into the loose corner and rustled the pouch wide. Working the tri-folded letter open, two additional rectangular cards tumbled from inside and fluttered to the floor. Curiously, I crouched to pick those up first. Stamped with tomorrow's date, they appeared to be tickets to a performance of _Cyrano_ at the Gotham City Opera House.

I skimmed the letter, hoping for more information. It only bore the simple message:

_For you and a special guest. Please enjoy. I will be in touch soon._

I flipped it back to front. No additional information, no letterhead, no signature. The thing that troubled me the most, however, was how could they have known?

Most balk at the idea of opera, believing it nothing more than large, screechy women warbling in a foreign language, or a hobby of the elite to parade their entitlement. It is so much more than that. Opera utilized a mix of beauty and tragedy that culminated into a very moving experience. The true tragedy lied in the common folk who wrote it off as a dying genre only fit for parody.

My mother introduced me to the opera at a very young age. _Die Zauberflöte_ was my first, and I was transfixed ever since. The Queen of the Night's second aria still gives me the same chills now as it did then. I was smitten with the character the second I saw her; the commanding presence, the confidence, the absolute conviction. Terrifying as she was beautiful.

I studied the tickets closely. They did not come cheap, and I couldn't imagine a single person who would shell out that kind of money for me. Mother, perhaps, but she would have called me ahead of time. I considered that perhaps this mystery person got the wrong suite, but the envelope was addressed to me.

To play it safe, I donned my winter gear again and trudged to a ticket box office a block away. The employee kindly checked for watermarks, serial numbers, and security features that authenticated their brand. In under a minute she had gone through every process and happily told me that they were indeed real.

A special guest, hm? I thought of mother first and foremost. She would forever be my first choice. But Renata...did she like opera? Perhaps this could be a good step, an introduction into my world, a pastime that meant something to me.

Maybe even someday, if all went well, all three of us could go together.

But I would have rather prevented Mother from calling her Renata Cobblepot just yet. Mother tended to get ahead of herself, mostly in theatrical ways. She meant well, but I didn't want Renata to be scared away or embarrassed. She would just have to remain my little secret friend for a while longer.

Back in my apartment, I advanced nervously towards the phone. Lifting it off the cradle, I tapped out her number. I read the brief letter one more time, attempting to decode it.

_I will be in touch soon._

By which way, and how soon?

* * *

><p><strong>AN: ****Umm...by the way, everyone, uhh...I don't exactly know how to tell you guys this *rubs back of neck sheepishly* It's difficult, and I feel awful about it looking as if I'm stringing you all along, making promises and then breaking them time and time again, but...I really don't think I can get all this done in seven chapters. I really need another extension, I just went too far in my mind and now I can't stuff everything left into only one more chapter. So let's rip up this seven chapters promise...***_**scritch**_**, **_**scritch**_**, tosses pieces into air like confetti*...and I'll just say that 'Necessary Evil' ends when it ends. I can't say an exact number for sure now, but we're still over the halfway mark, so don't expect a super-long drawn out plot.**

**I really need to stop planning a certain number of chapters before I start a story, it NEVER works and I always overshoot the estimate. **_**Always**_**. Why do I never learn?!**

**And also, hey lurkers, I seeee yoooou ;) *lays potato chips out in a trail, leading to crude trap consisting of a cardboard box propped up with a stick* Come out of the shadows, that's a good lurker, come on...**

_Guest_ - Thank you!

_Dekka_ - Forgive me if this sounds egotistical, but it never gets old when people remark on my writing :D That is the best news ever! Besides being told I won the $50 Million Jackpot, or that world peace has been attained. But one step at a time...

****Note: Die Zauberflöte means The Magic Flute, which is a famous opera by Mozart. If you want to _really_ get an earful of The Queen of the Night's second aria (Der H****ölle Rache)************, get a load of Diana Damrau's version. What power! What control! What _attitude_!****


	7. Opera

The next evening, there I stood, punctual and lingering on the sidewalk, the majestic Gotham City Opera House behind me working as a stunning backdrop. For a late fall come early winter night, the weather was quite mild and pleasantly cool.

I developed a rather bothersome habit of adjusting my already perfect cufflinks every few minutes.

My special three-piece suit that I saved only for occassions such as these hadn't seen the light of day for quite a few months. Tightened finances being what they were, I was forced to treat myself less and less. There was a sense of elation when I pulled back the plastic dry-cleaner bag earlier that day. Wearing the suit again was like slipping on an old skin, familiar and empowering.

I had also done something with my hair. In normal conditions it wilted lifelessly over my forehead, thin and every bit as alluring as charred straw. An odd little tuft at the rear of my scalp, the one that could never lie flat, suddenly looked out of place. I ran my fingers through the dead strands ponderingly, watching my reflection. Assuming the visuals of a gentleman meant looking a little less like...me. No exception as to whether or not I was one every other day. I respected the Opera too much.

A dollop of pomade and a few backstrokes of a comb later, my hair was out of my eyes and, at the very least, presentable.

I very nearly left my apartment before noticing the shadow draped across my knuckles. The valet's smug face—smashed near unrecognition thanks to me—flickered in my mind. I flexed and rolled my fingers, watching the undulating bones ripple under my skin, a test of the bruise's noticeability in the light. The last thing I needed was a scrap's discoloration working as a distraction whilst I tried to convince Gotham's elite that I deserved to be there alongside them. No matter what Renata's thoughts were on the subject, I did not regret a moment of it. Being the one to personally dispense what that worm deserved still left me in a suppressed state of euphoria.

I decided to forego any concealment techniques in the end. The shade my sleeve provided did a fine job, so long as I kept my hand to my side as often as possible.

Cab after cab entered the drop-off zone, but Renata still had yet to arrive. My fingers searched yet again for an imagined rogue cufflink. She wouldn't stand me up, I knew she wouldn't. She wouldn't. There was still half an hour until the curtain rose. Plenty of time. Plenty of time.

The identity of my mysterious benefactor still left me with some concern, namely the unknown motivation part, but the letter was clear in it's instructions, so enjoy I would. It wasn't everyday one received admission-free theater tickets and the chance to rub elbows with Gotham's highest ranking socialites. I would face the consequences, if any, at a later time.

Another taxi pulled to the curb, parallel to me. As I was about to wave the driver off to signify I wasn't looking for a ride, the back door popped open. A black suede stilletto heel emerged, attached to a pale ankle. After a pause, the foot bore weight and a woman's head rose above the window.

I almost didn't recognize her.

Her hair wasn't made of the many individual, scraggly crinkles I'd come to know. Tonight it was smoothed into a single uniform wave, reminiscent of Hollywood starlets in the 1940's. The bulk of it draped her cheek on one side.

"Thank you," Renata called brightly into the cab, stooping. Closing the door behind her, she stepped onto the curb, her heels clacking and scraping on the gravely sidewalk.

"I'm sorry, I'm not late am I?" she asked, approaching me.

I blinked rapidly, jolting. "_No_, no, you're right on time."

Renata's ruby lips spread in a grin. Her slate grey icebreaker jacket flared out, ending at her knees, leaving her bare calves exposed. I had to rely on my peripheral to acertain that point, it would have been distasteful to give her body a once-over in plain sight. A teardrop pearl earring danced beneath her one visible ear, and I assumed its twin was hidden somewhere in the shiny, dark cascade of her leftside. Occupying her hand was a simple, black clutch bag.

"You weren't waiting long were you?" she asked.

"Not at all. You look..."

"Different?"

"Lovely."

She pursed her lips. Tightening her coat around her middle, she bashfully replied, "Thank you."

The shock of brilliant color on her lips emboldened the borders I formerly thought I knew. They seemed expanded, and caught the eye in such a way that I couldn't help but concentrate on the stretch and constriction of them while she spoke.

I cleared my throat. "Shall we?" I gestured to the Opera House.

She nodded and gladly fell in step with me.

Luckily for her ankles, the cement sidewalk had been salted beforehand, leaving the path clear of ice and other wintery hazards. She seemed especially skittish around puddles, though, including the most shallow and insignificant, lightly hopping over them with a delicate lift of her arm for stability. When this happened a second time, I offered my arm to assist her balance.

"Sorry," she said with a sheepish giggle, willingly taking my elbow.

Her pace was mellow. While I would have rather been a little more prompt to reach our seats, I accommodated her easygoing stride instead. I wondered if perhaps her choice in footwear was a little cumbersome, for every step I took she seemed to take two smaller ones.

"Thank you," said Renata suddenly. "For inviting me. I've never experienced an opera before." She then beamed, her voice squealing with excitement like a violin string. "I feel like a princess tonight! Like Cinderella."

Then for her sake I hoped midnight would never come.

"Truthfully, I'm almost clueless about opera," she went on. "I couldn't even name you a single song if I tried. But I've always wanted to try it at least once."

"I appreciate your willingness. Personally, it is one of my favorite things in the world. It is an honour to be the first to introduce you."

She grinned in response. "So you would know a lot about opera, wouldn't you? I'm pretty lucky to have you with me, then. Please be patient with me, I promise I won't ask _too_ many questions."

Personally speaking, I didn't want her to hold back.

We reached the outer concourse circling the establishment. A banner rolled down from the rooftop advertised tonight's performance of _Cyrano_, depicting a barrel-chested man mid-note as the titular character. Renata craned her head skyward at the decadently lit structure, brilliant spheres of white reflected in her eyes.

"I've never been this close," she said breathlessly, then cast a marveled look at me. "You know what I used to call this place when I was a kid? A castle. I thought a king and queen lived here. I can't tell you how excited I am, I've never seen the inside before."

Bypassing metal detectors and security who scanned our tickets, we entered the lobby.

"Oh..." breathed Renata, her voice dying. From the moment she saw it she was fixated upon the main floor's impressive bubble chandelier. Her jaw slackened minimally whilst her eyes broadened in Wonderlandian enchantment. Her eyes flittered and sparkled in the many lights, latching onto as much detail as possible.

I drew her moderately sideways, more a physical suggestion than an actual tug, to make way for those we were blocking. Renata was like a balloon and steered with the slightest inclination. Even though she followed my lead, she kept her eyes on the chandelier for a few seconds longer. Swivelling her head like a bird, she caught the white double staircase that led to the box seats, the large wall sconces set up at intervals against the walls, and the enormous canvas portraits of the Gotham City's Opera House's past, starting from the late-1800's to present.

"Beautiful , isn't it?" I said knowingly.

She didn't answer but her far-off nod indicated she heard me.

"Coat check?"

Renata, thrown-off track, turned her attention to the man behind the counter I led her to. She watched him like she'd never seen a coat check counter before. She turned to me uncertainly in a way that communicated she was hesitant on how to proceed and would take my lead with anything I did in the next few seconds.

A bubble of pride formed in my chest. I felt strangely uplifted, arrogant even, to have somebody partly dependent on me. A pleasing feeling it was to have an advantage. She was in my world now. "Yes, thank you," I answered the coat check assistant.

Handing mine off and receiving the numbered ticket for retrieval later in the evening, Renata followed my actions and started unbuttoning the lapels of her coat. A slash of solid red-wine color emerged from the opening slit. Slipping the final fastener free, she shrugged it off her shoulders, and a sleeveless cocktail dress bloomed into view. Cinched with a thin, similarly colored belt at the navel, her skirt fanned out in an A line to her knees. The material even moved like wine in a glass, as though her dress had been poured straight from the bottle.

She self-consciously avoided my gaze and handed in her coat to receive her own numbered ticket, placing it inside her handbag. The small square of paper must have been putting up a fight because she seemed very adamant on stuffing it inside as effort-inducing and slow as possible. She looked up through her eyelashes at me. I knew what she was looking for in my face because for a long stretch of my childhood I had done the same: she was searching for judgement.

She would not find it in my neutral expression, nor would I waste my time indulging vanity. Frankly, she knew better than to think that way around me. Or at least she should have learned by now, but from what I'd known of Renata so far, I expected her to be a slow learner. Undoing the crippling emotional perception she was taught all her life was not my job, she had to find that within herself, just like I had to.

That wasn't to say, however, that I didn't mind having her on my arm tonight. She knew the way I felt about her.

Seemingly placated by my lack of criticism, her mood returned to her former happy-go-lucky dial setting. "Do you mind if we look around for a little bit?" she asked.

I did mind somewhat. I usually preferred claiming my seat early. Still, tonight my spirits were in good standing and I was willing to compromise in order for her introductory experience be a positive one. "For a few minutes, I suppose," I answered obligingly.

Renata excitedly flittered about, her skirt swishing as she stopped and swerved from desk to desk to view various souvenirs and information on tonight's performance, not to mention reading the little factoids on the walls about the Opera House's inception, construction, and most prominent donating patrons.

An older couple promenaded past me on their way to the grand staircase, casting irritable stares at Renata as if should have been exercising more self-control. The woman's stern pucker couldn't even be offset by the glimmering diamonds at her neck. She leaned over and muttered something to her husband, and they both continued on their way. I held my gaze tight on them as I watched them go.

Renata wasn't making a scene, she was quite well-behaved, but her energy may have looked out of place in the demure setting of the Opera House lobby and its upperclass patrons. I thought it may have been best to reign her in, if only for her sake to counteract the minor attention she was receiving.

She flounced over to me, a performance program and a playbill clutched in her hand. "Definitely going to keep these," she said, shuffling the booklets admiringly in her hands like they were collector's cards. Her teardrop pearl earrings bobbed and swung in a frenzy. Their shine was dull, and they swayed with very little weight, leading me to believe they weren't genuine pearl.

Just as she was about to move on to another target, her ankle buckled—not enough to for her to fall, but just enough to stagger. The majority of her momentum fell in my direction and I quickly caught her shoulder.

Stepping twice to find her balance again, she suddenly giggled. "Sorry, I'm not quite used to these." She pumped her leg behind her to exhibit a stiletto. "They're not exactly work appropriate at my place."

I let go of her shoulder, safe to assume she wasn't at risk of toppling over, and she waddled off a little more carefully. "Perhaps it would be best to calm your enthusiasm," I said as tactfully as possible, careful to inflect a touch of amusement to prevent her from feeling embarassed. "People are taking notice."

I felt like I was speaking to a mask. Her glamorous make-up hadn't changed her features so significantly that I could not recognize her, but they were noticeably different.

"Huh?" Renata scanned the lobby to find one or two decadent socialites whose curious attention she caught. Comprehension dawned on her face and she turned to me again. "Oh, I'm sorry! Is that not allowed at places like this? That kind of behaviour? I didn't mean to act up or anything. Honestly, I didn't know."

Her anxious look wounded me, and I felt as though I had put a halt to a natural, intuitive response. Her only crime was enthusiasm for the upcoming event, after all. Perhaps I was feeling sympathetic in that she was physically displaying what I was suppressing out of necessity to achieve an air of class.

"On second thought," I said, "never mind. Carry on however you like."

"Oh. Well, if you think it's okay..." She relaxed, but her brightness dulled following that. It did nothing to quell her building anticipation, though.

The tickets weren't prime box seats, but eighth row floor level would do just fine. More than fine. Dead center, too. The main seating hall was only at quarter capacity. Renata lowered herself ladylike into the foldout velvet cushion, and I followed right beside her. The chords of Renata's neck strained and bulged as she craned and whirled in many directions, viewing everything from the enormous chandelier above us to the rows of box seats on either side of the theater. The main hall's theme was strong with a warm red. It decorated everything from the seats to the carpet to the redwood paneling and, of course, the stage curtain.

Renata started thumbing through her playbill. "Is there a synopsis of the story somewhere in here?" she asked. "I don't think this will be in English, am I going to be able to follow it?"

"Normally it's performed in French."

Renata's mouth twisted uneasily. "Uh oh."

I allowed myself a small, chiding chuckle at her apprehension. "Have you forgotten who you're attending with? I'm right here throughout the entire performance if you need to ask." I couldn't quite speak French either, not fluently at least, but I was no stranger to the Cyrano de Bergerac story and it's libretto. It couldn't hurt to let her think I was a little more worldly, though. It wasn't a bold-faced lie, was it?

I contemplatively observed the stage curtain billowing a bare inch from an air-conditioned breeze. "Besides," I continued, "sometimes you don't need to understand every word to _understand_. Opera is a transcendence of mere words, Renata. If you can feel what the characters are feeling, hear the intensity or gentle nuance in the rise and fall of their voice, you'll know."

I stole a glimpse at her. Her attention was on the stage as well. Her eyes were flickering in wonder as if trying to see the same thing I was.

A thick-set man in a black tuxedo and bowtie wiggled through our aisle and interrupted us by sitting himself down next to me. He barely had any neck to speak of, his head was like a fleshy blob of clay with a slap of thin, brownish hair on top, placed on a pair of burly shoulders. Turning slightly to stuff a pamphlet into his inner pocket, he caught my eye.

"Hey, how's it goin'?" he smiled.

I didn't answer but gave him a polite nod in return, just for manner's sake.

The man shifted to find a comfortable position, taking up my rightside arm rest in the process. "Gonna be a good show, eh?"

I pressed my lips tight and nodded, semi-peeved at his bad timing. Renata didn't seem to mind the interruption, however, and even smiled at the man.

"I hope so," she said across the bridge of me.

There was no use in salvaging it, our moment was over. For the remaining three minutes before the performance started, I allowed her to continue her visual exploration of every facet of the theater in the privacy of her own thoughts.

The conductor of the orchestra appeared from a side stage door and took his place at the head of the pit, the musicians already in place. He bowed three times—right, center, and left—to receive the applause of the audience, and then faced the stage, readying his conductor's wand.

The lights dimmed. Renata prepared herself by straightening in her seat and folding her arms in her lap, crossing one leg over the other. The tensity in her body was palpable, I could almost feel it radiating off of her. Pleasing memories of my first few operas came to mind. I've become jaded to the feeling of child-like anticipation before a show, but it was quite nice to relive it through somebody else, just to remind myself that I felt that way once.

The first brass notes blared and the heavy red curtain parted.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Oh MAN, what a month it's been! I'm exhausted to the bone, I barely had any time to write this December. It's a belated Christmas miracle I got this done at all. Sorry if it's not up to par, I will do an edit overview in a few days.**

**Dammit, the 'Gotham' writers changed Oswald's mom's name in the show. Usually it's Esther in other Batman media, but the show has gone with Gertrude. I do so like the sound of Esther more...**


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